╰┈➤𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ ❝I envy those ignorant to the way Gods toy with us.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you're the object of many powerful men desires; from gods to warriors...they all want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ᴇᴘɪᴄ: ᴛᴍ!ᴀᴜ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
[𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤/𝐟�...
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━ ⭒─⭑━
Olympus was in an uproar.
Clouds churned angrily overhead, their silvery edges tinged with the golden glow of the sun as it struggled to pierce through. The usually serene, cloud-strewn halls that echoed with godly laughter and the soft whispers of nymphs now thrummed with irritation and frustration. The air crackled with tension, thick enough to still even the most curious of immortals.
At the center of it all stood two deities.
Apollo, radiant god of the sun, music, and prophecy, was the picture of uncharacteristic fury. His golden eyes blazed, and his hair, usually impeccable, was disheveled, as though raked through in frustration. The laurel crown adorning his head had slipped slightly, its delicate leaves tilted askew. Even his embroidered chiton, a testament to his domains, hung unevenly, brushing awkwardly against his sandals. His aura flickered erratically, like a flame caught in a storm.
Across from him lounged Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, her demeanor calm amidst the brewing tempest. She reclined lazily on her golden chaise, she plucking idly at a cluster of freshly picked grapes, her flowing robes of rose and ivory cascading like morning mist.
Yet her serenity was deceptive, for her expression carried an edge—her pale blue eyes regarded him with thinly veiled disdain, as though his anger seem like little more than a passing breeze.
"You had no right!" Apollo's voice thundered, raw with emotion. His fists clenched as his aura pulsed unevenly. "Everything she has suffered—it's your doing!"
Aphrodite leaned back further, her bare foot dangling lazily over the edge as she popped a grape into her mouth. "Oh, please, Apollo," she said, her voice dripping with condescension. With a wave of her fingers, as though swatting away a pesky fly, she added, "Must we go through this charade again?"
"It's not a charade. You've meddled—"
"Meddled?" Aphrodite interrupted sharply, sitting up slightly as her tone hardened. "If by 'meddled,' you mean holding your precious little muse accountable for the sins of her lineage, then yes, Apollo. I have meddled." She flicked her golden hair over her shoulder with an elegant motion, its strands catching the light like molten silk. "But you make it sound so villainous."
"It is villainous!" Apollo snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at her. His golden eyes flared, the usual warm glow hardening into something sharp and unrelenting. "The so-called 'sins of her lineage' were committed eons ago! Aren't you just being unreasonable?"
The lazy amusement in Aphrodite's gaze evaporated in an instant at the mention of your ancestor, her serene facade shattering. A wave of anger surged through her as the delicate grape she'd been holding burst between her fingers, crimson juice dripping onto her robes like spilled blood.
