"Hell yeah, your girl's thirsty," Lyra said, tugging off her coat and boots as she stepped in, talking at pace. "I've been having coffee with a goddess. No shit. I was working, hanging outside her window and she presses her face against the glass and is all 'I know you!' Turns out she's Erato, like, the Muse of poetry and smutty novels. Who knew the Greeks had a goddess for that? How fucking nuts is my life?"