For greek and roman mythology lovers, longliveharrypotter presents
Aphrodite’s Daughter
The Mysterious Letter
“Lovelacia! Lovelacia!” my best friend, Mauve, is running toward me, her hands flailing.
I grin. “What’s up?”
“You will not believe—I don’t know how —“ Mauve looks excited, anxious, and astounded at the same time; I can’t think of anything that might have happened though.
Hi. I’m Lovelacia Avish, but I’m called “Lovelace” and “Lacie” more. I belong to an orphanage. I don’t know who my parents were, or how I got here. And it seems like no one here knows either.
So I’m stuck at Ellebridge, my orphanage name. I live in San Fransisco, California, really near the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s beautiful here, a little of everything—rural, suburban, urban. Our area’s mostly suburban, but occasionally urban.
For some reason I’m really into fashion and beauty and stuff. And love. Really that. People tease me because of the relationship with my name, but I can’t help it. It’s just so...fascinating, how we fall in love. I truly believe that everyone has their match, if they’re willing to look.
Fashion is amazing too. I mean, Paris and NYC are my top dream vacation spots! They’re both sophisticated and know their stuff. I always try to look as stylish as possible (“romantic style” suits me best, but some edge isn’t bad!), and I usually get to be.
That’s what’s always stumping. For some reason, even though I have no real home, or any money, everyone at the orphanage acts like I’m some kind of queen. I’m always fed exquisite foods, and given the prettiest silk dresses.
Occasionally, the dresses don’t even look like...dresses. More reasonably, airy...long...T-shirts. I dunno. They just don’t look regular.
Back to Earth, anyway.
Mauve searches me, her eyes glittering. I smile. Mauve always says it’s a winning one, but Mauve is a BFF, and I’m pretty sure they kind of have to say that.
Mauve is also super pretty. She has waist-length glossy dark hair and dark melting eyes. She looks nothing like me, because I have wavy blond hair that reaches my waist and turquoisy blue eyes, but we’re apparently both attractive.
“Are you looking at my outfit?” I joke, as Mauve’s eyes rove me again.
Mauve smiles for the first time, a slightly apologetic expression hinted in her face. “Oh, I’m sorry...I’m just so—I guess just confused! But your outfit’s awesome, no worries, Love.”
Mauve, by the way, is the only person who can call me by the nickname “Love”. No exceptions.
Today, I’m wearing a swishy powder-blue dress made of silk, and this one looks pretty normal to me. I have white, tightly sewn tights (probably where it gets its name!), blue flats, and a huge rhinestone necklace. My hair is worn down, and there’s glitter all over my cheeks.
(I swear, I did not do the glitter part. Body glitter is so...I don’t know how to say it in a nice way. Let’s just say I don’t enjoy it. The worker did it. I swear.)
Mauve also looks like she’s ready for a photo shoot. She’s more described “chic”. Today, there’s totally a cowgirl vibe around her. Mauve’s wearing a leopard-print top, and velvety black leggings. Her tan boots are leathery opposed to her pant texture, and she’s wearing golden knots for earrings. Unlike me, Mauve’s hair is up in a tight bun, and a cowgirl hat is perched sideways on her hair. She looks like a cowboy-horse trainer.
Even though we look totally different, Mauve and I compliment each other. Mauve is so sweet. I can’t imagine life without her, because everyone else would be a boy in the group of “I enjoy Lovelace” (apparently I’m...beautiful to them? Uh...okay, off topic) if she weren’t there to patch stuff up.
Finally, I ask Mauve because I’m bursting with impatience, “What is so important?”
Mauve suddenly tenses. Her face glowing, she says, “Well...I know I shouldn’t have, and I’m really sorry—but I knew you wouldn’t be mad!”
“About what?” I ask, just as tense.
“I just—I didn’t try to!” Mauve exclaims, looking desperate. “I was just passing by, and—well—I saw the mail truck—and the mailman opened your orphanage’s mailbox and put something in...and then...”
“It’s okay, I won’t be mad!” I assure Mauve, because she looks really frightened and I want to know what’s going on. “Yes?”
“Well, there’s this awesome—sparkly—golden thing in your—the orphanage’s—mailbox,” Mauve says all in a rush. Her face seems to glow. “I don’t know...I was just looking inside the box, and it’s magnificent! Shall we go see?”
“Of course,” I reply eagerly. “How did you think I’d be mad? That’s so cool! We have to do some snooping ASAP.”
“Thanks,” Mauve smiles. She slips her hand into mine. “Let’s go see that envelope!”
“It’s this one. I can tell.”
Mauve pulls out the envelope, and we both gasp.
Mauve’s right. It is magnificent. It’s a shimmering golden envelope, and by touch, you can tell it’s genuine—the real thing. Real gold. And it seems to emit sparkles and light. There are roses edged into the sides, and the envelope smells of sweet ones. A brilliant curlicue LA is burned into the middle.
“It’s beautiful,” Mauve breathes.
“I’m afraid to hold it,” I add, gaping.
Mauve traces the letters.
LA...” she says softly. “I’ve no idea what it could mean...”
“Maybe it’s the real LA, you know, Los Angeles,” I suggest, because I’m pretty strong in geography. “It’s not super far from here, around a six-hour drive.”
“Or it could stand for the song L.A. by Elliott Smith on the album Figure 8,” Mauve shrugs, who loves music.
“It could be the two front letters of Latin,” I add. “Right?”
“True,” Mauve nods thoughtfully. “But now I think about music, LA could be related to that a lot. For starters, the note la on the scale—and there’s a super awesome American country music trio called by the group name ‘Lady Antebellum’, that could be it too.”
“Maybe...” I squint. “I thought there was also some band like that? I don’t remember really clearly...”
“You’re right!” Mauve punches the air like I’ve just won the lottery. “It’s called The La’s, I can’t believe I forgot...they’re a rock band...I love them...”
“But there’s also a popular Italian TV channel,” I interject eagerly. “It’s called La7, OMG, what if it’s a letter from them?!”
As we chat excitedly, our conversation gets wilder and wilder.
“It’s a message prank!”
“A letter bomb!”
“No, I’ve got it—the music note la has come for a visit through the mail!”
“That’s crazy—“
“Oh for heaven’s sake, it’s only fun!”
“I know, but I’m not in culture with music, and I haven’t an idea what la is!”
“You’re joking!” (Mauve looks aghast.)
“I’m not, I was just trying to act happy you’d thought of something!”
“For what, the letter initials?”
“I can’t believe—it’s the basics, la is—“
“Oh, don’t make me feel guilty, you know I like fantasy ten times more!”
Finally, I tug at the envelope. “Can I hold it?”
Mauve eyes me jokingly. “Nah! It’s mine!” I know she’s just kidding though, but she acts ASAP (as serious as possible).
I play along. “Oh kazams! I want to!”
“Child,” Mauve waves a playful reproving finger, “you are much too greedy, young lady!”
I know now that we’re playing Family—which I love to do. I grin.
“But Mommy!” I fake-wail, gripping the envelope tightly. “I want it and it’s mine!”
“Young lady!” Mauve glares, but ruins the effect by winking. “How dare you! I have my own mail y’know!”
“And I have mine too!” I whine, grappling the golden outside. “Let me just hold it!”
“How dare you!” Mauve fake-gasps. She pulls on the envelope too. We’re having a tug-of-war.
I’d been sure the gold envelope, being real gold, would not break unless we chopped it with a knife.
So I’m shocked and abashed when, through her fingers, the envelope rips and explodes into millions of beams of rose-gold light.

Keep Reading

Chapter 2

Stepped Down from the Sky

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