Perfection. It was a near impossible feat and yet it was one that the Leventi strove towards like a predator making its kill. Mouths salivated at the prospect, bloodied claws ferociously swiping and grazing at its target - a slight nick might mar the flesh, yet the death grasp remained allusive. To strive for perfection is to be eternally disappointed, her mother once counselled. Ignorance had laced her words, but Eirini could not fault her for them. Her mother was sweet and loving, but simple in many ways. What a blessing it was that she had parted this mortal plain before Eirini's elevation within it. Eulalia would not have handled the rise of their stations well, if she would have been allowed to accompany her daughter at all (or so the matriarch of the Leventi often told herself, it was easier than acknowledging than her dearest mother detesting the woman she had become ).

Yet for a long time Eirini had found credence in her mother’s words, though she likely used a harsher lexicon to express the same sentiment. Her husband had been the one to awaken her to a great many things, the art of perfection being but one of them. Or rather, the art of striving for perfection. As impossible as it may be for most, all within Fotios’ household were expected to deliver perfection and this was no less true for his wife. It was not for the nuances of his controlling mind - though they undoubtedly played a role - but for her Fotios required it because he believed she was entirely capable of grasping it. You see, perfection for the Leventi is not simply one thing, it embodies all that they hold dear and manifests in their vanity, their neurosis and their greed. It is less the principle of being perfect and more act of improving one’s self in the attempt of achieving it. It is their golden goose, their desert mirage - though it may not exist, they clamber towards it all the same. 

The reflection within the bronzed mirror is as close to perfection as a mortal could possibly be without insulting the gods, or bringing upon their jealous wrath. Hair shines like polished obsidian. The intricate braid, painstakingly laboured over by handmaidens, is adorned with golden combs, designed to capture the light as she steps into the sun. Her attire is no less captivating, the crimson silks tailored to capture attention, but not so revealing that they incite scandal. She traversed the path between goddess and siren with perfection, each step polished and graceful, a skill she would now pass down unto her daughter. 

Agape's quarters were not far from the one she shared with her husband and she breezed through the heavy oak doors with the expectation of seeing a similar display of affection perfection. Eirini was not disappointed. Emotion welled within the mother as she beheld her daughter,  one hand rested upon her chest as the other pressed to her lip. All her daughters' had been blessed with her beauty, yet it was Agape who favoured her most and in that moment, Eirini was struck with an overwhelming sense of pride. "Agape – oh my darling!" 

Striding forward, hands outstretched to take hold of her own, Eirini beamed. "Let me look at you, treasure." Amber hues trailed from head to toe, the lump in her throat thickening. There was not an inch of her daughter's appearance that day that Eirini had not orchestrated; from the colour and cut of her chiton, to the styling of her hair and the accessories she wore about her neck and wrists. Everything was designed to emphasise her beauty, to entice people closer, yet emphasise her position in society as the daughter of the head of Leventi. It was pleasing to see that her efforts had not been in vain, not that she had expected anything less from her eldest daughter. Tender hands came to cup her cheeks as she pressed her lips to the younger woman's brow, "you look divine. No one will be able to tear their eyes from you." Pulling back, the pride softened into something more maternal, a flicker of concern within her gaze. "Tell me truthfully, how are you feeling?"