Before anyone says ‘I told you so,’ I want to clarify one thing.
I did not, in any form, expect this to happen. And how could I? Unlike Janus, I cannot look into the future. Everything I know about are sweet things. Like flowers, ribbons, rainbows, puppies, and… and a lot of things. So I don’t know how to explain to Jupiter that the most amazing, gorgeous, flabbergasting Goddess of Love might’ve innocently, unknowingly, accidentally, caused another mortal to die. So much has happened that I don’t know where to start. It’s such a sad tale, a very tragic one, and brutally long. So my dear hopeless lover, go get yourself a nice cup of *ambrosia or whatever is in the latest trends today, because we’re about to listen to the best story of your little life.
If my memory serves me right, it was around six months ago– when I first saw her. She had brown hair and skin that shone golden underneath the Sun. Her brown eyes were one of a kind. I’ve seen and created all kinds of beauty there is to see, yet she still amazed me. Mars was busy that day, and I was really, really bored. So I made the stupidest decision there is— I took a human form and went out venturing in the mortal lands. I’ll not lie to you *liberi, you people have accomplished so much! Creating those little boxes to call each other around the globe? We usually get Arcus to do that, but it’s commendable really. Anyways, what was I saying? Yes, I took my human form. I must have looked decent enough in the blonde hair-blue eyed combo with the pink shrug, top, skirt combo (I saw it in a movie!) because when she saw me– I swear she couldn’t stop looking away.
One thing led to another and there I was, sharing a mortal’s bed, again. But it didn’t feel wrong. I didn’t have my normal ‘God-complex’ or whatever they say when I was with her. She said her name was Ryla. And by the stars, if i could chart another constellation just for her, I would’ve. And if I could paint the skies in the colour of her lips and smell and touch, I would’ve. But I couldn’t. Not because I didn’t feel strong enough for her. Not because of the hold she had on me. Not because of the Moon and heaven and the Olympus. But simply because she was a magnificent and radiant being, and I? I was just a mere goddess.
I feel so stupid, looking back at all of this. I should’ve noticed the signs. I should’ve noticed when her fingers trembled when it was intertwined with mine. I should’ve noticed the light fading out of the brown forest in her eyes. I should’ve noticed her soul getting weary. I should’ve noticed them all. But I didn’t. How could I, when every moment with her felt like the first bloom of spring? I brushed it off thinking it was a mortal thing— that it too shall pass. And yet, in the quiet hours when she thought I wasn’t watching, I saw her look at me with emotions I wasn’t allowed to feel. Fear… and love.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised when she asked me very mortal things. Things like,
“What would it take, Venus? For me to be yours—completely?,” I laughed, brushing it off as a fleeting thought. “You already are, my love.” But her eyes burned with something darker, something I hadn’t seen before. She wasn’t asking for affection; she was asking for power. A way to stand beside me, not beneath me. I tried to warn her. Oh, gods, I tried. But mortals, you see, have this stubbornness. A fire that burns them alive before they can even feel the heat. And I am a lot of things, but I’ve never been the water to someone thirsty.
When it happened, it was like the Earth itself held its breath. I felt it—the rupture in the air, the weight of something ancient and unforgiving pressing down on us. She stood at the center of it all, her arms outstretched, her voice trembling with a prayer she should never have spoken. I called her name, over and over, running toward her, but the light around her grew too bright, too violent, until it swallowed her whole. By the time I reached her, it was over.
She lay there, impossibly still, her lips curved in the faintest shadow of my name. I fell to my knees beside her, my hands shaking as I touched her face, her hair—still soft, still hers, even in death. I wanted to scream, to tear apart the heavens for taking her from me. But all I could do was hold her and whisper a thousand apologies into the cold, unyielding silence. My hands, the same ones that wove roses and bound lovers together, were stained with the remnants of her life. And for the first time in millennia, I understood the cruelty of my gift. Love does not heal. Love does not save. Love devours.
So here I am, dear hopeless lover, sitting among the stars and cradling the weight of my own foolish heart. I will tell Jupiter. I will stand before the council of gods and confess my crime: that I loved too much, too deeply, too recklessly. And when they punish me—because they will—I will not fight back. But even then, even as I bear their judgment, I will hold this truth close: that I would do it all again, just to feel the light of her eyes one last time.
Little lover, you’re allowed to be mad at me. I promised you that this would be the best story of your life, but it didn’t end in the way you quite hoped. That’s the way of life, my *meraki, even the gods don’t know how or where our fates will lead us. I hope you’re done with your cup of ambrosia or coffee or whatever, if you’d want, next time I promise to tell you a happier tale. But remember, even I wouldn’t know how the story would end, and I’m a literal goddess.
I adprehendet vos per somnia
*ambrosia: or nectar, is supposedly the drink that gods used to intake
*liberi: latin word for children
*Meraki: greek word for creation
*i adprehendet vos per somnia: I will find you in your dreams
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