"They tell so few stories about me," Terpsichore near-whispered, "That I have to write my own. I have a name but no patterns I'm forced to stick to."
Apollo's hand was warm against her cheek, and her eyes fluttered closed at the touch. As his kind words enveloped her, she opened her blue eyes to see him gazing back at her. Pulling gently on his hand, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his softly.