I wake suddenly to the feeling of falling.
I sit up, sweat shining on my chest and my hair in a disaster of waves across my brow. In my dream, I stood on a sharp twist of rock over an abyss. It's dark as my soul, but I can hear waves deep below. Ichor slides down my back, chest and shoulders in waves of pearly gold. I try to step away from the horrible drop and step out over nothing. As I fall, I see my wings and heart hacked from my body and lashed to the rock, both bloody gold and dark. Someone screams.
I wake.
I'm so shaken I can only breath heavily in silence for several minutes. I've been dreaming for a few nights now. The night before, I shot myself with my own arrow and was aimlessly in love with nothing at all. The night before that, I danced with a faceless girl whose dress was made of roses, and my hands were pierced by thorns as I reached for her. This nonsense keeps me exhausted and confused.
I've been overcompensating for my nights of horror. Every day I take my bow and ghost the mortal world. I shoot with bitter intentions. I leave a trail of tragedies and romances lost. For every gruesome end, I feel sick with delight.
At the end of every dramatic scene I create, I pluck my arrows from their bodies and clean them from the stain of blood.
I keep a diary of my... hunts. The ones I am most proud of. It's on my nightstand, which is solid gold, not to brag. I can see my entry from last night.
.
Summer Season, Day 83
To myself.
Today I shot the hearts of a faerie and a man. They fell in love with passion and fire. It took him only hours to be locked onto her. When he realised that night she'd never be able to stay with him in this world, he asked her to feed him poison, so that he may continue to be young in the afterlife, to meet her once again once her longevity ran out. She watched him die in her arms while she continued to breathe minute after minute. I stepped quietly up to his body as she held it. I plucked the arrow from his still heart. She watched me. Her heart will always belong to my arrow now, but its match is gone.
Mmm. Maybe I have a taste for drama. I love to write a good disastrous love story. It reminds me not to be in one myself. The only place love gets you to is hell. I will never be romantic. Besides, I already love myself.
Avec amour,
Eros
.
I think I should start a dream journal too. Get some nonsense physic powers to decipher their meaning. Ha! Ridiculous. The fates don't control me.
I'm feeling a little crazy lately. I would never admit it, but my thoughts are not as smooth as usual. Maybe I have been working myself up about meeting the girl. She makes me nervous, and I haven't even met her. I simply have a knowing feeling that nothing good will happen on this mission from Aphrodite. All Gods have a sense of premonition. I hope this isn't mine.
I drag myself roughly from the bed to the baths, running cool water over face and through my hair until it sits in a dark mess, dripping water onto my bare shoulders. Goosebumps jump up on my skin and I shiver. I shake myself off and brush my lashes, then tint my cheeks and lips slightly so I look alive. The way a Greek God should. Like the sculpted statues of myself, cold marble muscles and eyes.
Snatching my bow and quiver, I sit up on the balcony edge until I see the sun shine its yellow face over the mountainside. I look up and hope the day goes easily. There is no one to pray to when you are a God. So I ask myself to stay steady in my course, to deal with the girl and be done. Today is the day. I don't want to lie to myself by saying nothing will go wrong.
At least, I can try my best to keep my head.
At last, I stand up on the top of the stone wall of the balcony. I hoist the smooth strap of my quiver over my shoulder. Then I jump, headfirst with my arms in front of me, cutting the air as I accelerate down the mountainside, freefalling. I close my eyes and let myself plummet for several seconds, relishing the ecstasy of the fall. At last, I unfold my wings in a snap, hearing the rush of air as they catch me, pulling me back and up. I let the wind continue to control me, so I glide smoothly out from the mountain and through the fine morning mist.
And so the day begins.
