Sentimental Gods

I. Butterflies

Epimetheus and Pandora
    "Butterflies"

    The first thing I would always notice about her was the endlessly long, black hair that trailed, no, cascaded down her back as gently as water. Her hair would flow alongside the wind like spilled ink. She carried a scent of hyacinth flowers about her, it radiated and seemed not to invade, but modestly seek entrance to those around her. She was captivating, yet also fleeting. She was there one moment, gone the next.
    Normally, I was never one to overthink. Overthinking just isn't in my nature, I suppose most would call me impulsive, sometimes even foolish. I have many regrets... she is not one.
    My brother, Prometheus, was much more suitable. He was somewhat of a perfectionist, always planning and thinking things entirely through. Finding multiple solutions was an easy task for him, it was somewhat hard to live in his shadow. Though through her, for some reason, she would fancy me better. I'm not sure why, my brother and I were twins after all, not at heart but in appearance and truly she could grasp ahold of any other she wanted. It seemed surely implausible. Me? The reckless, young, foolish God of afterthought and excuses.
    Though when I lay eyes on her I could think of no one figure that looked right by her side, she seemed translucent; a ghost. Her skin that of the daintiest porcelain, lips as pink as the peach orchards that grew beside my temple. She was perfection personified, at least to me. Lithe in appearance with slender fingers that held the softest touch. My skin burned beneath her fingertips, I could not control these swirling emotions.
    I felt lightheaded whenever my name would spill from her lips in greeting, the way my name so effortlessly came to her, the way her accent would accentuate it. My love's eyes held my gaze, her cheeks flushed and feverish. My heart was beating quickly, her golden eyes locking with mine. A question seemed to stubble from my lips, though I did not recognize I was the one to speak. Her response was short, a smile attached to it as her eyes flicked from all around her to myself. I had not registered what I had asked, not until her fingers interlaced with my own and her smooth lips pressed against my cheek.
    I married her.