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Clio had avoided the big lights and flashing photographers, which all seemed very ironic to her. Here she was, the Muse who had once brought fame, hiding from the gossipmongers and the new bringers of fame.
The afterparty had suited her more, once she had let the movie simmer in her mind. Achilles had done an admirable job. She'd still found some mistakes, but minor ones compared to the ones made by the other movies that had made.
She'd felt daring enough to wear the dress, she'd had her eyes on for a while. She still bore scars of the attack so many weeks ago, but they were faded and she wanted to enjoy herself. It was a piece of the past that she was permitted to touch, even for her little while, and it was enough to ignore her discomforts.
She'd given a nod to Achilles, subtle enough for him to know she was here. The times of being obvious were long gone. She'd wait. She had time. With a smile she settled herself on the bar, waiting for the son of Peleus to join her. She could see this ending badly, and she'd warn him. But so few listened to her anymore.