The day’s meager light was nearly gone as I stood enshrouded in fog at Point State Park in Pittsburgh and yanked the white sheath dress over my head. Nana placed a circlet of ivy on my head.

“The bell sleeves are nice,” said my mother, Eris, as she smoothed my dark hair. “You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”

Those words furrowed my brows. “Someday,” I retorted, envisioning Johnny standing before an altar. Then, in my imaginary scene, Menessos stepped up on the other side. What would I do if I had to choose between them? “Maybe.”

Besides, it wasn’t like I was wearing a silk gown. My attire was simply meant to be symbolic of the maiden aspect of the triple-goddess. This was a plain cotton chemise I bought on eBay from a seamstress who could have independently costumed a Renaissance fair.

Having always been more tomboy than prom queen, I’d always had an extremely low tolerance for dresses. However, this plain gown was reminiscent of those worn by the women in the art of John William Waterhouse, and for that reason alone, I was thrilled to be wearing it. At least until Eris’s romantic notion spoiled the mood with implied lifetime commitments.

Shoes were another story. I’d not thought of them when ordering, and by the time I realized my error, it was too late for even overnight shipping.

My mother supplied me with a close imitation of the appropriate footwear: ladies’ slippers from Isotoner.

“You’ll be a bride someday soon, I’d bet. I’ve seen how Johnny looks at you.”