It came as a reflection of Maia’s simple sapphire-and-emerald beauty; her sibling stars and worlds, no matter how brightly they shone or magnificently they arrayed themselves, paled beside it. Even now, as Maia grew round with a million children soon to be born, every slope of her form was fascination; her mane of tangled green, like the tropics in wet season, grew still more vivid and lush; and her ethereal eyes danced with anticipation of the joys of motherhood.
–“The Gift,” from Songs of the Metamythos
