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The problem is she’s not used to his face when it’s upset or mortified. Normally, she would celebrate this revelation, if only to verify there’s a soul behind the swank. Though tonight, it had plagued her for reasons unknown. And it resulted in their one-millionth spat.

A miasma spews from the basin to her left, the mist crossing paths with beams of starlight. The prism arcs in front of her like a pretty blockade. Skidding to a halt, she sighs. Where the Fates is she?

Paying attention to her direction would have helped. Maybe if she waits, she’ll remember the route to the cavern. Besides, it would be a shame to let this place go to waste, to end on a sour note. Sorrow told Envy that pleasure only ends in pain, that experiences only ever go downhill. Nevertheless, leaving here with a bitter aftertaste in her mouth instead of savoring the environment bothers her. That she wouldn’t at least try to enjoy this landscape…it just bothers her.

She’s not a coward. She refuses to fear pleasure, no matter how it ends.

What she needs is an outlet to cool her heels. The basin beside her ripples, reachable by a stone trail extending from the bank. The surface reflects a netting of fern trees and magenta vines that bunch together like awnings. Bits of the sky seep through, stars poking holes through the canopy and flickering across the water.

The inviting water. Envy must bathe here whenever in residence.

Sorrow peels off the pajamas, dropping them on the ground. Hopping from one mossy stone to the next, she pauses at the pool’s edge, then dives in. The basin swallows her, the current slinking around her body and teasing her hair. Pumping her arms, she swims along the circular perimeter. She’s weightless, mindless. Lost in the deep, she lets the silence alleviate her tense muscles.

Cracking through the surface, she paddles around a pair of trees that bloom from the water. It’s a shallow area, the foundation rising so that she can sit with her back against one of the trunks. Melting into the bark, she kicks her legs in front of her, splashing, splashing.

Closing her eyes, she thinks about pleasure. How would she know the extent of her delights? By comparison, if they had broached the subject of pain, what would they have shared? What would they have kept to themselves?

Those questions linger on the fringes of her psyche.

That’s not the only thing that lingers.

Sorrow slumps, because she’s done, so very done. Too sedated to protest, she calls out, “What are you? A voyeur?”

The hedges shift, brushing like fingers. The sounds caress the air, changing the velocity of her breathing. Thankfully, the whoosh of waterfalls muffles her gulp.

Nonetheless, she keeps that swallow under wraps as he steps into view, the leaves bowing out of his way. Propping his shoulder against a banked tree, he watches her.

Nothing else. He just watches her.

He watches with a noncommittal expression. He watches as if her discarded clothing isn’t limp by his toes. He watches as if her nudity is inconsequential.

She sprawls before him, exposed from the collarbones up. Luckily, the water’s darkness conceals the crucial details that he’s seen multiple times.

Yet his presence chafes her flesh, provoking goosebumps. The falls plunge in a riot of mist from the rocky inclines. Motes glow like fireflies. One of them highlights his broad face and the black spill of his hair. She appreciates the distinction between their skin tones, his almond complexion versus her milky one, though she can’t fathom why.

It should be a serious moment, with serious ramifications, following a serious overreaction. It’s her choice whether to let it be so. It’s his choice, too, because no one else can control how they feel. Unlike humans, deities have this luxury in spades.

Sorrow would invite him to join her, since swimming will keep them busy and cement a truce. But she doesn’t have to. He’s capable of disrobing on his own.

Like he’s doing right now.

Holding her gaze, Envy unwinds the cloth protecting his wound. Dark sprigs of hair track from his navel and vanish into the low-slung pants, and as his fingers pinch the waistband, Sorrow keeps her eyes glued to his.

The pants puddle to the grass. Sinking into the depths, Envy hums as the water swabs his injury. Settling across from her, he reclines against the second fern tree like a spoiled faerie king who’s got the world at his feet.

As such, he grins that stupid Envy Grin. “Who are you calling a voyeur?”

Sorrow snorts. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I can think of a few things. But I had better be careful what I say, or you’re liable to smack me again.”

“Is that an apology?”

“No,” he intones. “This is: I’m sorry, for the second time tonight.”

“Ditto,” Sorrow confesses. “I shouldn’t have…”

“And I shouldn’t have…”