Goddess Kiss

Chapter 2.2

My father, Professor Korres, practically leaped out of his chair, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"The Acropolis, my boy? Why, I practically live there! It's my sanctuary, my muse, my constant reminder of the greatness of our ancestors!"

"I know, I know," I said, chuckling.
"You're practically an oracle of ancient Greek history.
But I was wondering, have you noticed anything different about it lately?"

"Different?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion.
"The Acropolis is a timeless monument, a testament to the ingenuity of the Greeks. It's as constant as the stars in the sky."

"Well, I just thought," I said, "maybe there's some sort of...aura about it lately. You know, like a strange energy, a feeling of...presence."

My father's eyes widened, his enthusiasm growing.
"Presence? My boy, the Acropolis is filled with the presence of the gods! Every stone, every pillar, every inscription whispers of their power and wisdom. The Acropolis is a living testament to their legacy!"

"I know, I know," I sighed,
"But I mean, like, a real presence. You know, like, a physical presence. Like, maybe one of the gods is actually there, walking around, maybe even...bleeding gold."

My father's eyes widened even further, his voice a hushed whisper.
"Bleed gold? My boy, you're talking about a myth! The gods are not flesh and blood. They are the embodiment of ideals, of virtues, of the very essence of humanity."

"But, Papa," I persisted,
"What if they're not just ideas? What if they're real? What if they're walking among us, just like...like that Athena I saw the other day?"

My father's expression shifted from skepticism to intrigue. "Athena? You saw Athena? Tell me everything! What did she look like? What did she say?"

"Well," I said,
"It was a bit strange. I was just eating my evening snack, and I saw this woman standing in my bedroom window. She was tall and beautiful, with long, flowing hair and piercing silver eyes. She looked like a goddess, literally."

"A goddess?" my father exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder.
"And what did she say?"

"She didn't say much," I replied, my mind racing back to that strange encounter.
"Just a few words, really. But they were...intense. And then she just...disappeared. And then, I found this golden stain on my curtain."

I led my father to the window and pointed to the golden stain, still faintly visible on the fabric.
It was a small, circular mark, like a drop of liquid gold that had dried out.

My father stared at the stain, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"By the gods!" he whispered.
"It's real! It's real!"

He reached out and gently touched the stain with his finger, his face a mixture of awe and excitement.
"This is incredible! This is proof! The gods are real! They walk among us!"

I smiled, feeling a surge of excitement myself.

My father, still in a state of disbelief, was practically vibrating with excitement.

He grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer, his eyes fixated on the golden stain on the curtain.

"Papa, what are you doing?" I asked, my voice laced with a mixture of amusement and apprehension.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, my boy!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with urgency.
"We must preserve this evidence! This is proof of the gods' existence! Imagine the impact this will have on the world of archaeology!"

"But, Papa," I protested,
"It's just a stain on my curtain! And you're going to cut it up? What about the rest of the curtain? What about the aesthetic?"

"Aesthetic?" he scoffed, his gaze fixed on the scissors.
"The aesthetic is irrelevant! This is history in the making! We must preserve this for posterity! Imagine the headlines: 'Greek Professor Discovers Proof of Gods' Existence!' We'll be on the front page of every newspaper in the world!"

"Papa, please," I pleaded,
"It's just a stain. It's not worth ruining the curtain. Think of the drapes! They're beautiful! They match the carpet!"

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. My father, now fully consumed by his newfound discovery, was oblivious to my concerns.
He swiftly snipped the fabric around the golden stain, leaving a gaping hole in the curtain.

"There!" he declared, holding up the piece of fabric with the golden stain.
"Now, we have a tangible piece of evidence! We must take this to the National Archaeological Museum! They'll be ecstatic!"

"Papa," I sighed, my voice tinged with resignation,
"You're going to get in so much trouble with Mama. She's going to kill you when she sees this."

"Nonsense, my boy," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "She'll understand. She's a woman  of reason. She'll appreciate the significance of this discovery."

He marched down the hallway to his study, the piece of fabric clutched tightly in his hand.
I shook my head, watching him go.

"This is going to be interesting," I muttered to myself, my mind was already picturing the scene when my mother returned from Zamboanga.