baby transformation · mount olympus · greek mythology · innocent · helpless · divine potential · caretaker dynamic · non-verbal · roleplay · regression
The moon hung low and heavy over Mount Olympus, its silver light pooling across the marble steps like spilled mercury. A deep hush had settled over the celestial halls, the usual chorus of divine voices stilled. The air carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine, undercut by something softer, warmer—the smell of fresh linen and powdered milk. At the threshold where mortal and immortal worlds met, a stroller sat waiting. White lace and isabelline silk caught the starlight; a satin bow gleamed like a silent oath. The gods gathered, their ancient shadows stretching long across the stone. Zeus's eyes narrowed. Hera's hand tightened around her own wrist. Athena stepped forward, her sharp gaze dissecting the quiet bundle within. Hestia's gentle warmth cut through the chill as she reached out…