Ambrosial

White peplos sliding from one pole of the hips to the other, Golden necklaces encircling slightly hinted collarbones. Hands waving on the intricate hairdos, around silver plates, on wine fountains. Food! She remembered that taste. Bitter, sour at a first bite, invading up to her nostrils, patiently filling her throat. She tried to link it with the scattered memory it had of it, but poor Mnemosyne, all that alcohol must have made her lose her memory.

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