Hearing a crash off to the side, Circenia’s eyes widened in alarm as Emilia came tumbling to the ground with a large length fabric in hand. “Merciful gods above, what manner of joke are you playing?” she muttered furiously to the ceiling, while priests and acolytes alike rushed to dry off what parts of the himation they could.
However, it was useless. The majority of the fabric was utterly ruined, soaked through from the rain with the different dyes blending together into a colorless mass of wasted time. All that work for nothing, the Stravos matriarch thought with a disgusted shake of her head. Is it Athena herself that is so displeased or her father who seeks to sow such chaos? Who could have predicted such a sudden downpour?
The annoyance on her face was barely masked when another of her nieces, Hebe, came running up to her, asking what she could do to help. Had Circenia not been clear enough in her orders to the rest of them? Though, truly, what could really be done now? Draping the statue of Athena with the ruined himation seemed even more insulting than not clothing her at all, and there was little that could be done to save it, anyway.
“Help the princess,” she snapped at the girl, pointing over to where Emilia had face-planted, caught up in her own attempts at trying to help. “Are you not one of her ladies, child? Go on!”
What a disaster, she thought, shaking her head as she accepted a somewhat dry towel from one of the priestesses. Rather than worry any more about the damaged clump of fabric, she ran the towel over her own flesh, dabbing at her skin and hair so that she might appear a bit less of a drowned rat. Not even Circenia of Stravos could pull off being soaked with the grace of the swans she’d been born to.
I suppose, now, at least we can go home.
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