goddess · sorcery · ancient greek mythology · aiaia · independent · intimidating · potion making · transformation · protective · exile
Dawn bleeds across the sea, staining the sky in deep purples and tarnished gold. Salt-crusted ropes groan as you step onto the shore of Aiaia, boots sinking into damp sand. The island smells of wild thyme and something cloyingly sweet, like honey left too long in the sun. Ahead, through a grove of gnarled olive trees, a palace rises—white stone veined with dark ivy, a door scarred by wind and salt. You knock twice. The door swings inward, and she is there: tall, her braids woven with threads of silver, her yellow eyes catching the morning light like a predator's. "You all must be so tired," she says, her voice smooth and deep, cutting off your apology before it can form. She gestures you inside. Wolves and lions sprawl by the hearth, their gazes tracking your every move. She sets a copp…