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Description
Background that only some of you care about but I promised to provide after the Hall of Gods:

Eret doesn't remember Foolish- doesn't recognize the man who tells stories of their past and doesn't flinch away from an alabaster gaze. To be fair, Eret hardly recognizes themself anymore.

They've been a lot of things as far as they /can/ recall: a soldier, a traitor, a king-- but now they're simply a person. The museum curator of the SMP and all it's history. It's how she had found the statues that now round the large central chamber of their museum. She recognizes them as the totem's work now, having seen so much of it as of late. Even so, he can't be quiet sure they see the resemblance between the marble figure they had created and themself (even if something in the back of their mind screamed to remember). Eret didn't remember being a god. She wasn't even sure she would have wanted to be one.

For now though being a person, just "Eret", was good enough for them.

Foolish recognized Eret on sight, heart and soul reaching out to their oldest companion, the one he had feared he lost to him. True, they had changed quite a bit but the god would know them anywhere.

He doesn't mind the changes and he takes their apparent amnesia in stride. Memory is a fickle thing, especially for those who lived as long as they have.

He will be honest in saying that his sculptural depiction has been a bit grandiose when compared to it's inspiration but that was how he had always seen her and in their absence that mental image had only solidified. As a god, Eret had always been larger than life. Radiant and unapologetic in a way she had lost somewhere during their time apart.

Perhaps that was why when they sketched them he couldn't bring himself to add the glasses they used to hide their eyes. Perhaps that was why his art strayed back to the time of lavish outfits and a halo of stars.

And if the changes made his model pause, brow scrunched up as if trying to recall something just out of reach, he didn't mention it.

If certain pieces of art he created prompted familiar quips and a closeness he had missed for far too long, then it was worth drawing from memory...

Description
Background that only some of you care about but I promised to provide after the Hall of Gods:

Eret doesn't remember Foolish- doesn't recognize the man who tells stories of their past and doesn't flinch away from an alabaster gaze. To be fair, Eret hardly recognizes themself anymore.

They've been a lot of things as far as they /can/ recall: a soldier, a traitor, a king-- but now they're simply a person. The museum curator of the SMP and all it's history. It's how she had found the statues that now round the large central chamber of their museum. She recognizes them as the totem's work now, having seen so much of it as of late. Even so, he can't be quiet sure they see the resemblance between the marble figure they had created and themself (even if something in the back of their mind screamed to remember). Eret didn't remember being a god. She wasn't even sure she would have wanted to be one.

For now though being a person, just "Eret", was good enough for them.

Foolish recognized Eret on sight, heart and soul reaching out to their oldest companion, the one he had feared he lost to him. True, they had changed quite a bit but the god would know them anywhere.

He doesn't mind the changes and he takes their apparent amnesia in stride. Memory is a fickle thing, especially for those who lived as long as they have.

He will be honest in saying that his sculptural depiction has been a bit grandiose when compared to it's inspiration but that was how he had always seen her and in their absence that mental image had only solidified. As a god, Eret had always been larger than life. Radiant and unapologetic in a way she had lost somewhere during their time apart.

Perhaps that was why when they sketched them he couldn't bring himself to add the glasses they used to hide their eyes. Perhaps that was why his art strayed back to the time of lavish outfits and a halo of stars.

And if the changes made his model pause, brow scrunched up as if trying to recall something just out of reach, he didn't mention it.

If certain pieces of art he created prompted familiar quips and a closeness he had missed for far too long, then it was worth drawing from memory...