winebrightruby:

The June night is sticky with fragrance, jasmine-drenched. Aphrodite’s laughter silvers the air. Ares, most handsome of gods, has returned from the battlefields of Thessaly, and the Gulfborn goddess prepares for their reunion.

In her chambers, Aglaia drapes ropes of Mississippi River pearls around her neck. From her ears, opals set in Alabama gold cast back the candlelight. Thaleia holds open a gown of finespun cotton, light and cool against Aphrodite’s skin, as rosy Euphrosyne combs vanilla oil through the queen’s hair.

But when Aphrodite reaches for a brush to darken her eyelids and color her cheeks, nothing her handmaidens offer is soft enough. No brush nor sponge nor even plush rose petal deserves to scrape across the goddess’s flawless skin. Her temper runs hotter than the summer evening, and more than one delicate statuette ends up flung at the walls. But at last, Thaleia brings in a handful of gauzy flowers from a tree in the courtyard. The silktree mimosa blossoms are paler than moonlight and softer than a whisper. Aphrodite dips them in her alabaster vessels and exclaims in delight as they float across her cheeks. In gratitude, she kisses the flowers and scatters them back in the courtyard before leaving for her assignation, leaving the mimosa blossoms newly stained pink with her blush and carmine.

From that night forward, the silktree mimosa has bloomed in shades of pink, as a sign of Aphrodite’s favor. To show that she will never forget the flower that served her when she needed it, she had them planted in her temples and made them one of her sacred symbols.