Aphrodite's Flame

8.

Tonight I'm walking over to the little cabin Adonis is residing in. It's no more than a wooden box with a bed, a table and chairs, and a fireplace. It's not much, but it will do for now, until I find something better for the both of us.

Adonis has been Up for five weeks now, and we're spending almost every day together. Autumn has painted the leaves yellow, orange and red, and they've begun letting go and twirling down. It's getting colder now, the winds turning the sky into a pale blue, almost white.

'Hey!' he says when he sees me walking up to the cabin. He isn't wearing a shirt. He grabs a towel to dry his hands, but all I can see is his radiant smile. I can feel the same fire lighting up my being as is burning up his heart. The fire inside him isn't as fierce as Ares', but he is still young and not as needy.

'What have you been doing today?' I ask him in a honey-suckled voice which is not entirely my own. I never used it before, anyway. I almost daresay this love between Adonis and me is the colour of pomegranates. To be frank, I never quite understood Persephone's need to describe everything in colours. I can't see them, not like her. Yet, I believe they could help me paint a map toward the one thing I crave most, if only I figured out what they meant.

'I went to the creek. Some guys there taught me how to fish. Can you believe the water here is safe? I mean - of course you would believe so,' he chuckles. 'Anyway, they also told me about this great place in the village and I want to take you there.' I was actually hoping for some time alone with him, but I don't want to steal any time from him. Even though his first sixteen years are mine, my sixteen years are his as well. He is not my prisoner.

'Okay,' I tell him, 'where are you taking me?'

'First I want to grab a bite to eat,' he says earnestly, making me smile. These words are not his own. 'After that I want to go dancing. I've never been dancing. On my goodbye party Hades made me dance, but that was different. I want to dance with you.' My smile bursts out in a giggle.

'You made Hades dance?'

'He made me dance. He is quite the dancer, but maybe I shouldn't tell you this.' His ears turn pink and I laugh even harder. What's this? What happens in Hades stays in Hades? 

'Oh, no!' I hiccup, 'please, tell me more!'

'No!' he cries, his face now matching the colour of his ears, 'we're going into town.'

'Does he tap dance?'

'Shush!' He quickly moves into the cabin to put on a shirt while I am bellowing with laughter, pinking away a tear. O, glorious day, I could just see dear old Hades tap dance.

***

The thing about Adonis is that he makes me feel young. I haven't felt like this in a thousand years. His spirit is different from any I have ever seen. As I have seldom paid attention to the mortal soul, I never saw the way their soul needed to find a way still, a shape or maybe a colour. Some of them have a soul as white as snow, never touched by fire - others have a blackened soul, crumpled up like burnt paper. Then there's the tiny flickers, curious to whatever life brings them, and the wildfires, already having seen what life has to offer and intending to take everything they can put their hands on. There's blue fires, suffocating through a lack of oxygen and there's orange-red fires, the free souls. I have tried to define Adonis' flame - but sometimes it's no more than a flicker and sometimes it bursts up into hellfire. Sometimes it's almost white blue, and other times it's a devastatingly beautiful red. 

The souls of divinities are something else entirely. First of all, they are never small. There is nothing humble about the Olympians. There are no flickers when it comes to gods and goddesses, only scorching infernos. Maybe Ares was right. Maybe the mortals are more fun to surround ourselves with than I thought. At least they have a lot to discover still.

After dinner Adonis and I walk to a tavern named after the great Orpheus. They play covers from his repertoire. O, I remember him screaming bloody murder when an angry mob devoured him. I did enjoy setting up the perfect decor for him and Eurydice to meet. No one can ever convince me of a better mortal match than those two. Too bad they were indeed subject to mortal ruins.

'Since you are a thousand years old, did you ever hear Orpheus live?' my date wonders eagerly.

'I have. His voice was so beautiful, it could make flowers blossom. The whole world fell silent so they could hear better - from the little waves in the river to the howling wolfs. When he sang, it would be Spring immediately, as even Helios would come out to hear him.'

We walk into the dimly lit place, where an older man is sitting on a barstool with a guitar. He is nowhere near as good as Orpheus, but he does his best - and none here will ever know. Orpheus has been dead for almost a hundred years. His voice is lovely, but it's not Orpheus. 

'He is good,' Adonis says. I nod in agreement. Apparently he has no time to waste, because he takes my hand and drags me to the dance floor. Inhaling deeply, he looks down at me and I put my hands against his chest. I can feel his excited heartbeat. He virginly puts his hands on my shoulders, and I smile at him. Slowly we move to the music.

I notice his hands move down my arms and toward my waist. At the same time, I move my hands toward his shoulders, pulling him closer, and I rest my head against his chest. How did this ever happen? I mean - it was no surprise that he fell for me, but how did I fall for him so quickly? It feels like a trap, but I don't want to be aware of the dangers ahead of me. 

After having danced for hours on end, we walk back to the cabin. He tells me a hundred stories, all of them evoking happiness inside me. It is the first time I wonder about my own flame. I can see them easily in others, but I never had the patience or the courage to self-reflect like that. 

At the end of the night it is time to say goodbye. I will hug him and bid him goodnight. Then I will go home to Olympus and meet him here in the morning if he wants me to. However, this time it feels different from all other times. The gaze last a little longer, he stands a little closer, his eyes are a little darker. 

Adonis cups my face with his hands. I can feel his longing and his puppy love crush for me, they make me happy. He leans in and kisses me.

The moment is soul crushing. Why? I am not used to being the one who gets kissed first. I have always been the one who kisses or slaps. I am the one who says if and when.

But here he is, planting his lips on mine and gently forcing mine to grant him access. His tongue grazes my upper teeth in search for my tongue, and massages it upon discovery. His hands move to my neck, pulling me a bit closer. Soft moans escape his mouth and enter mine. I'm pulling on his shirt, digging my fingers into the fabric. This kiss is lifting me toward cloud nine.

And then he lets go. His cheeks are tinged red, his lips are pink and swollen with excitement. He leans his forehead against mine and smiles.

'I've wanted to do that for a while now,' he whispers.

'Do it again,' I hear myself respond. My fingers dig into his shirt and I pull him flush against me.