By the time Androkles was reaching between her legs, Persephone's chest was impossibly tight, her eyes tight shut and her mind shutting off. She barely felt Androkles' fingers and hands, his lips passing over her skin. She blocked it all out, her struggles continuing but also useless against his brawn.

When he finally seemed to pause, she went to open her eyes, uncertain of what his backing away was to mean for her. As he threw a punch into the cushion beneath her head she felt the entire lounger she was pinned to shake with the impact and her eyes squeezed shut again. Was this going to be how it was? Violent and angry?

Would it hurt?

Instead, she was surprised as she saw a lightening through her eyelids as Androkles' shadow rose and passed over her. She felt the weight around her diminish and suddenly she was free.

With a scramble that was hardly delayed and far from graceful, Persephone clambered out from under the gladiator, stumbled over her own feet and the trailing pieces of her dress. She took a second to brace herself on a piece of furniture - a chair maybe? she wasn't paying attention - and then rose to stand straight.

Self-conscious, she shifted her chlmays around her shoulders so that it hung down her front inside of her side, masking the now almost transparent remainders of the gown from his or anyone else's eyes. Her movements were hurried and uncoordinated - rare for a woman of such grace. And yet, her bearing returned to its straight poise, her chin rose and it was almost as if her hair wasn't half hanging around her face or her crown had shifted off-centre.

To anyone at a distance, her posture and strength of stance would appear that of the princess she was. To those close enough - like Androkles, just a few steps away - there was a tremor to her fingers and a brightness to her eyes that was unnatural and betrayed the woman beneath.

She said nothing as the man seemed to angrily snatch up his himation from the floor and strode from the room in a cloud of frustration or hatred.

Once left alone, Persephone swallowed hard and fiddled with what was left of her clothing, as if in a daze. She had no idea how long she stood there for a moment - seconds, minutes or hours, but she thought it was somewhere in the middle. Shaking herself awake from her disorientation and allowing her tutoring to come to her rescue, Persephone unhooked her chlamys from her shoulders. Slipping it around her back, she wrapped it around her chest, beneath her arms and was now cloaked in white with an under-layer of flickering golden layers. Straightening her crown, Persephone winced as the fastenings tugged in her hair, the golden leaves tangled in the shiny strands. She pushed the rest of her hair back and over her ears.

Taking a steadying breath, Persephone curled her fingers into fists in order to stop their slight shaking and left the room with her nose in the air.

She walked quickly down the corridor and around the corner, fighting every internal instinct to not look back over her shoulder fearfully in case of a repeat scenario.

As soon as she turned the corner she was in sight of the guards that monitored the doors to the Xanthos private quarters. They stood to attention as she approached and Persephone caught one glancing at the trailing ends of her dress. He seemed to shoot her a querying look, hedged with respectful tact.

"All is well." Persephone stated as the door was opened for her. "But if my appearance this night passes the lips of anyone, you will both lose your heads."

And with those sharp words, she shut the door behind her and hurried to her own rooms.

As soon as she was there, the door shut and her own, private space a secure sanctum in which she could feel safe, Persephone simply stood in the middle of the room, her mind muddled and her body uncertain.

She could still feel where the gladiator had touched her - her breasts, her hips, her inner thigh... he had even pressed a heavy palm against her womanhood. Persephone shivered. There was a dampness to her lips and the skin of her neck where he had kissed her, the traces of his mouth now dry on her skin. She touched her neck. A touch that turned to a rub. A rub that turned to scratching as she reached out and grabbed a washcloth, intent on removing the sensation from her skin.

The washcloth dropped to the floor as her attentions moved to her dress and she pulled the chlamys away from her torso, the white fabric fluttering to the ground like a surrender. It only made her angrier.

Pulling at the gold, the few layers that were left were so tugged and pulled out of shape that it was easy for her fingers to subconsciously latch onto an already torn bit of fabric and finish the job. What was left of the article of clothing joined its outer layer on the rug.

Persephone felt like stamping on it. Spitting on it.

It was a symbol of everything that she hated. The life she was not allowed to live herself, the value she presented as something to be looked at - to be possessed. She resented it for holding her captive just as much as her "champion" had, and it felt like too much of a metaphor for her life.

Standing naked in the middle of her room, thankful for the drapes already being pulled across the windows and the fire in the hearth already burning, Persephone turned a full circle, unsure what to do with herself. She wanted out. Out of her body. Our of her skin. She felt... not hers, anymore.

Spying herself in the full-length mirror, Persephone stood for a moment, defiant before her own reflection. Her body was as perfect as she had always been told it was. Slim shoulders, supple thin arms, her fingers were elegant and tapered, her breasts full, her belly soft, her hips a flare from her waist and then slimming down into smooth legs and toned calves. Even her feet were thin, elegant and dainty. Her face had been carefully crafted by the Gods, so said her father, with a soft shape, large eyes, and shapely mouth. Her hair was black, glossy and - when loose - hung to her waist. Every inch of her was covered in a layer of finely bronzed skin. A layer she felt to now be tainted.

Persephone watched as the lower lip of her reflection started to tremble, its eyes widen and become too bright. The reflection turned blurry as she watched her features crumpled; her throat tightened, her chest ached.

It was in that moment - about to bawl like a child - that a knock to her bedroom chambers sounded throughout the room.

Looking around started, Persephone took two hurried steps backwards - to where she did not know - but it felt natural to put distance between herself and her door.

After a moment, however, her brain clicked back into some semblance of normal and she realised that the gladiator - or any other danger - would neither knock, nor be permitted into the royal chambers at all. Which meant it had to be a servant.

"Your highness?" Came a voice through the door, accompanying a second knock.

Recognising the voice as a young female servant that Persephone knew by face if not by name, she quickly wiped at her face and ran for her night robe that had been draped at the end of her bed, ready for her arrival.

"One moment!" Persephone called, after clearly her voice and pulling the edges of the robe into place and tying the cinch. Hurriedly she looked towards the remains of her dress and swooped low to pick them up, before shoving them beneath her bed the blankets that flowed out onto the floor keeping them hidden from view.

Rubbing fiercely at her face and then taking a deep and calming breath - pleased when the exhale only juddered a few times - Persephone called out for the servant to enter.

When the door was opened and the meal she had requested brought in by a young maid, Persephone felt her stomach twist at the idea of food, having entirely forgotten that she had even requested a meal to be brought to her.

As was expected and protocol. The young girl set the meal tray onto the side bureau, took up a small spoon from the vessel and tasted a mouthful of each of the dishes. She then took the spoon and herself back out of the room after dipping low before the princess.

Persephone maintained her cool and her calm and nodded thankfully to the girl before ignoring the food she had brought with her. Suddenly, she was not so hungry.

Instead, Persephone - in a calmer mood than he had been before the timely interruption - sat herself before her bureau and began the painstaking task of removing her crown from the silken strands woven in and around it and then shaken and disturbed by the evening’s events. It took her longer than necessary and, by the time she had the golden piece removed and set onto her desk, Persephone's upper arms hurt with the exertion and her scalp stung from all the tugging on her dark locks.

Freed of the accessory, Persephone simply sat for a moment before her smaller mirror, staring herself down.

Her silken robe had shifted from one shoulder, her hair was a bird's nest and her eyes looked dull. She leaned in, turning her face left and right and pressing the palms of her hands against her cheeks. She did the same for the rest of her body, as if her own touch might erode that of others. It helped some to note that this was still her own skin, her own body... but it did not erase the memories she now had locked within her conscious mind.

She had been frightened. Perhaps for the first time in her life. Which meant that those memories would not be going away anytime soon. And nor would her wakefulness.

Before bed, Persephone would be ordering a bath prepared, soaking herself and scrubbing away everything that she could from that day's events. Her maids would then be called to brush, wash and wrap her hair. Her body would be reanointed with oils and scents. She would effectively be made new.

And yet, that night... Persephone did not write in her journal. And she was unable to truly sleep until she had gotten out of bed in the dead of night, reached beneath her bed to grasp the tattered strips of gold, and thrown the remnants of her dress into the dying flames of her fire. Only once she had watched the gold dissolve into sparks and flames of amber and crimson, was she able to sleep once more...