She squinted at him for a moment before waving her fingers in his face. There was a flash of dazzling purple light. When it cleared, Penelope was frowning at him. "Why..." Her face relaxed with understanding and she rolled her eyes. "Ohhhh. Now I get it. Who do you belong to?"
Her face soured and she raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Uch. I should have guessed," she said, gesturing to the lyre.
She raised an eyebrow. "Am I really that uncouth? No, son of Apollo, I hail under Vesta. Hestia, I suppose you would call her. You don't seem like you've been through many ages."
She smirked slightly, raising one eyebrow. Her face was not unkind, but she seemed skeptical. "It's your first life and you're out here in a field playing the lyre. Typical Apollo."
"And you're here telling people to leave the field because of some curse, yet you don't leave either."
