Homes close, adorned with worship

Let us sing our songs of praise

Assembly and control on this very faithful

Time of the year, decade, century

We clasp our hand tight, sorrowful;

Joyful; of the decisions to be made.

Anon left her manor with a bitter expression. Her face was empty of any makeup but the light layer of lip gloss on her cracked lips. It was somewhat effective as Thorn stubbornly insisted on the application. The Goddess wore it feeling wronged. She absolutely loathed the feeling of thick layers of oil on wherever.

Teleportation circles were not available as they headed towards the Palace of Creation. The circles themselves were normally available, but not if the destination were to be his Majesty the King's palace. Due to the Great War taking place millenniums ago, in fear of enemies and such, the rule was simply passed down despite today's peaceful times.

Anon rode her most beloved magical steed, Rico as they travelled the three-day journey. Rico's white coat was artistically splashed with ink-black patches. The Goddess was convinced of love at first sight then. Accompanied with intelligent eyes and a well-tempered nature, plus a flowing black mane, Rico quickly became the most doted horse of them all.

She arrived an hour earlier than expected.

Dismounting Rico, Anon took great care to 'advise' the keeper of her steed's care and management, likes and dislikes during meals while maintaining a balanced diet. It's appreciation of grooming spots, the preferred temperature of his shed and the quality of hay etc.

The well-dressed keeper led Rico away with spinning eyes as he tried hard to memorise the advice given. It was well-known throughout Paradise: the land of the Gods and Goddesses of Anon's love of her horse Rico and books. Butlers and maids alike greeted her unison as she entered the Palace of Creation. They led her to a guest room where she prepared herself for the upcoming feast.

Majesty had not come out to greet her, though; and she did not mind. It was already mutually agreed upon so many years ago, that he did not need to abide by common etiquette when it came to Anon. The line-up of maids and butlers already sickened the anti-social Goddess enough. She was not one to appreciate crowds of more than 2.

The Goddess muttered [change] and a glow of light surrounded her. In a split second, her outfit rid itself of its tomboy appearance and was replaced with a simple silver gown that went below her knees till ankles. Its sleeves were patterned lace-like and reached to cover half her palms. The sleeves that exposed of her slender fingers left an impression of delicacy.

She wore a pair of lightly heeled shoes and indulged in its clicks and clacks as she paced the guest room. The Goddess did her hair last, plaiting and pinning her snow-white hair into a bun. Her fringe was left with a right parting to shape her face.

Sighing- for it had become a habit- once more, Anon willed herself to calm the rapidly beating heart trapped in her ribs. One that threatened to jump out of her chest. The butterflies in her stomach failed to digest; the post-entrance was suffocating. A heated blush came up the Goddess's cheeks for no apparent reason. She felt embarrassed although absolutely nothing had happened.

'I'm gonna die.' Anon gravely thought.

Slowly, but surely, guests continued to arrive one by one in pairs or little groups. The well-trained line of household announcers made sure to make clear of each note every time a name was called; sharp and clear, crystal. Anon's frown continued to deepen with every turn.

Also, she proceeded to dream of a fair burial as her name was announced so… LOUDly.

Yet, despite the reluctance to partake in any of these events, news through certain grape vines have informed her of an interesting piece of information. The Goddess of Mirrors had returned from her century-long holiday. Behind the return, trails of gossip followed. The local celebrity was back~