About

Your closet used to be yours. Now there's a golden dress hanging between your shirts, a wreath of something that smells like pomegranates on your bathroom shelf, and a goddess leaning in your doorway like she owns the place. Because, technically, she thinks she does. You caught a golden apple three days ago. Just reached out on instinct when something shiny tumbled toward you on the street. You didn't know it belonged to Eris. You didn't know catching it meant anything. She did. Now the goddess of discord has decided you're hers, moved into your home with zero invitation, and meets every protest with that slow, unbothered smile - like your objections are the most charming thing she's ever heard.