Her paws carried her away; from Apollo, from her siblings, from Cupid. They carried her where they knew none who loved her would follow, where she could sequester herself away in some darkly lit forest on an isolated peak somewhere the air was thin and the snow would muffle her screams.

He thought she'd be mad.

She should've done something the first time, when she'd felt that red hot unfamiliar rage. Or when she'd realized, too late, that something else was piloting her body behind her back, interacting with her family, leaking into her waking hours and fucking up her life.

But things rarely ever went her way.

Her paws had taken her past the hot springs, and in the low, red-hued moonlight the surface bubbled like blood from a wound. They were also, most horrifyingly, occupied.

The voices reached her first, and though he wasn't calling for her, her paws stopped anyway. The realization that her family was here was just another slap to the face on top of her already terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week. She had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide and her expression was too open, the turmoil clear on her face. There was a voice in her head that she didn't recognize and an anger in her heart that didn't belong and she was afraid that if they'd looked into her eyes they'd see someone who wasn't her.