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Joined January 2023
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Smoke didnβt belong hereβyet it curled from their fingertips, slow and lazy against the saltwind. They sat on a rock warmed by dusk, ankle-deep in tidefoam, staring out at the edge where sea and sky blurred.
The forge never slept. Neither did they. Molten metal roared like a beast in its den, and they coaxed it into silence with calloused hands and a tired gaze. Smoke clung to their skin. The gods had long stopped visiting. Mortals still whispered prayers, but even those came less ββ
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β π΄ just remembered that when I was a
β * KID I πΌwallowed like eight things of
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β as a suicide ππ‘π‘ππππ‘, do you?
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β β β β β β ππ β πΝπΝπΝπ β πΊπ β π¨βπ β πΝπ§Νπ€Νπͺπ£π,
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that was π₯π’π―π.
her majesty,
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βIβ.β Their words seem to have escaped, leaving their throat blank and tongue dry, unable to properly speak. Aglaiaβs presence always caused such an unforgiving reaction. But they wouldnβt have it any other way. Thereβs a bare flinch of a throat, fluttering as the
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God attempts to swallow the lump which has grown troublesome. βHow can I be of assistance, Lady Aglaia? Do you require something?β Hephaestus can never quite deal with someone visiting for the sake of seeing him and not needing something from a skilful creator.
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She is no princess in the tallest
tower waiting for a prince to
save her. There is no dragon to
slay, no fields of thorns to burn.
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β β β β For she is . . . ππππ΄πΌπΈπ.
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Bashful are their hues, nervously remaining upon the Queen of the Gods with the occasional flicker to surrounding flora. Study chest inflates as air slips over orderly brims and a single step closer is taken before they pause. Towering and regal but possessing a limp, worsened
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only by their Fatherβs violent hand when Hephaestus dared to protect Hera. Their limp is a topic of sensitivity for the God but amusement for their family. Hera is adored. Dare they say desperately. Hephaestus has only ever wished for her love. βI brought you a beverage,
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