"Beauty's a doubtful good, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour; And beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, In spite of physic, painting, pain, and cost."
Erato whispered to herself, holding onto Apollo's shirt as a glow of heat started to bloom under his hands. It was not comfortable, but it was somehow reassuring, because it was him, and he was the sun to her. Asterion was still there too, she heard the rumble of his voice, but this was what she was focused on right now. Sparkling worms of light were starting to burst, sending messages to her brain once more as blood vessels were rebuilt, and a hazy glow was growing. "And beauty- blemish'd once- blemished- oh- oh-"