He'd fallen asleep in America. In fact, he'd fallen asleep in America night after night, lost and suddenly so unsure again. Sanity was fading, and he'd fled London in search of stability.
He'd woken up in Spain. Skin as dark as the earth he'd been chained to replaced by milky white flesh that looked far too fragile and thin. Though when he stared in the mirror, he saw no fragility. He saw the gaze of a titan, the teeth of a survivor, and the grin of a madman. He should have been upset about that last part.
The plane ride had been brief, and upon finding himself back in London, he'd headed straight for the bar.
“Whiskey, neat, and don't be stingy, dove,” he purred, soft pink lips spitting out each word as he flashed a little too much teeth with his smile.
The barman had gone from charmed to unnerved, as he well should have. Prometheus didn't react though, he only took his drink and surveyed the evening crowd. God he loved London. They were all so lost and so desperate. Love me, notice me, want me. Dull, stupid. His gifts were wasted on these fools, and had he had the strength, he might have burned this pub to the ground, just to remind them all how fragile and brief their lives could be.
Lucky for them, he was still a bit weak.
One drink became several, and soon he was on his way. He walked with feminine grace, but there was nothing soft about him. Nothing sweet. No one who looked at him would see a fragile woman. Perhaps a queen, perhaps a warrior- The truly perceptive might even see the truth. A titian ripe with madness, armed with charm, intelligence, and a dangerous smile.