The glass paused on its way to her lips, a fraction of a second's lost thought. There was no way Terpsichore would reveal how it had actually ended: with the muse crying on Belial's bed, watching the sleeping demon draw unholy breath. Against her better judgment (everything with him was) she had slept with him, and it hadn't been until the dark silence of after that the reality of everything had hit her.
"It was okay. A little weird, but we went dancing and had baklava." The muse remained silent as she clinked her glass with Apollo's and took her drink.