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"even gods have their fair share of nightmares"
WHEN WAS THE RIGHT TIME?
When was it deemed appropriate to mourn for the riotous pride once held in their hands? How long before the inevitable snapped them into It's jaws.
For the gods, they had never been baited by cruel acts of mischief or hunger for more. Yes, they were greedy beyond compare, but with the world at their fingertips, in what need did they have for bait when they had the whole ocean to swallow.
Hades grasped at nothing as his soul slipped between his fingers. The god bounded after his body, feeling weightless surrounded by fire of thousands of suns.
Sleep whisked him away to his own underworld, ruled by another god who was malicious with intent, cold and born of chaos and bones. To think, that was once home, but he was never like that...right?
Every thousand years or so, he's left questioning his own self, in search of what it truly means to be feared and to fear.
Dionysus was gifted with the ability to sleep for short periods. Parties never stopped, they only had prolonged times of peace and quiet, before the alcohol kicked in and the music blared across the sky like his father's lightning and thunder striking the ground. His own nights lazily sipping anything he could reach in the vicinity, whilst glaring and complaining of his spoiled life and the necessary pricks that came along with it.
But the god would never change it for the world, because he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, with a golden goblet in his hand.
Hermes felt a slithering feeling as his eyelashes fluttered along his cheek. The sense of stalking never washing away. He supposed it was his job to be alert with news, but just this once, his body urged him for the exhaustion to ebb away into stars and dim lit lights. However, those wings lifting his feet for movement combated the tiredness aching in his bones. Working overtime took It's toll, while the others could sit on their thrones as they wished.
Hair tickled his eyelids while he blinked the cracks and crumbles of his fair skin away. He was deprived of a natural sleep for millennia, forced to run the earth and its heavens in search of answers and questions thrown his messy way.
God of Travel or not, he runs to catch up with his past and it's dwelling teeth that skin his very being.
Sweet hums melodically fill her ears while she lays pampered in bed. Singing so sweet it causes heartaches with its notes, like her own beauty.
Aphrodite wished to believe herself back in the golden times of love with the various waltzes across tiled floors, with gold chandeliers hanging lowly above their heads, and the clinking of glasses hugging the tables. Her hand small compared to that of a man with striking eyes and smart looks, nails scratching his arm lustfully to gain a quick tease for the night.
