Eros

The Before

With each languid flick from the tongues of a coven of nymphs, each responsibility weighing down on Eros' shoulders dissipated.

I have time.

Sure, he had a million important jobs to be doing right now, like inducting fallen angels into reality or killing off vessels of evil, but as a nymph teased her hand over his knee and up beneath his toga, Eros decided those responsibilities could wait until later.

I have plenty of time.

Sure he did.

He sat on his throne; wings spread about himself as nymphs of all kinds touched him. They purred niceties into his ears, telling him how handsome he was, how sexy he was, how godly he was. Eros knew all of this, but it didn't hurt to hear it every once in a while.

"Tell us more," One of the nymphs purred.

Ah, right.

He'd just been telling them of a legend he'd heard, one he was currently questioning the truth behind. Because, until about a week ago, he'd thought it was a load of bullshit.

Eros, as a God of flight, was stationed- often- at the garden of angels. The terrain was best suited to those of flight, so he'd taken the job on years ago. Long story short, when angels were kicked out of the good place- punished for their wrongdoing- Eros was the happy face who greeted them. With their wings recently clipped, they had no choice but to fight that landscape on foot. Eros got it easy.

So, here's the legend part.

Falling from the heavens at that kind of velocity, there had to be something to break their fall when they landed. And so, those fallen angels hit a body of water, planted there purposefully to receive them. Some Gods believed the pure magic of the heavens hadn't fully left their bodies by the time they hit the water, leaving the water to soak the last of it up. With centuries of that kind of power, the water had magic of its own. Theoretically, the water had the power to show the onlooker the best thing in their life, be that an image from the past, present or future.

Eros hadn't bought it until he'd seen the face of a woman.

It'd only been for a second. So brief he thought he'd imagined it. By the time he blinked, that image was gone.

"Yeah, what did she look like?" One nymph asked him.

"Well, she was..."

He couldn't see it all in his head. Not clearly. It'd only been for a brief second. But she'd been pretty. Beautiful even.

He still wasn't sure that he bought it.

How could a singular woman represent the best thing in his life at any given time?

Eros was born to go around. Eros was for everyone. And if there'd been one woman in that image...

He doubted its legitimacy. Besides, the water thing was surely a myth anyway.

His answer fell from his mind as a nymph tongued her way up his neck.

Thoughts of sex and nymphs drifted off when a bang sounded from the centre of his throne room.

A black-haired hunter stood there, a blue-ish scythe in his hand.

I know that man.

His name was right on the tip of Eros' tongue. Somewhere.

Eros knew a lot of faces. This was just another in a sea of hundreds.

Ah—but I do know he's a hunter.