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venusiananthology · 10 months ago

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚Le piège˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Life on Olympus has been treating me fairly, the graces attend me at every hour and meet my every need. They feed me ambrosia and grapes and dress me in the morning with new robes of different colors decorated with floral embellishments and ruffles every day. They read with me in the mornings and we discuss human politics and philosophy, it is all so rich!

In the afternoon I read scrolls sent to Olympus by Hermes which represent the prayers of my worshippers. So far I have only received scrolls sent from Cyprus, but my cult is growing rapidly and I am told I have become a staple on the island. I read stories of love and amorous meetings at night, lovers separated by birth or family or distance. I answer their prayers and guide them toward one another with my magical touch and invisible hand. I look down upon Earth from mount olympus through my personal looking glass and watch as my granted prayers are fulfilled. Oh how I adore love.

Speaking of love, I have found none of it in my own marriage. Hephaestus works from dawn until dusk in his forge and only returns at night to his bed, our bed, to sleep for the next day of work. The forge is his mistress, and I am extremely jealous of her. I may not find Hephaestus attractive, and I may not find him to be the most interesting, but I am jealous on the account of principle. I am his wife, I should be his priority, yet I am not. And I do not think I will ever be.

Our bedchambers however are stately and grand. Our bed is surrounded on all sides by columns painted red with black detailing and our floor is of a beautiful marble. The bed itself is extremely comfortable and the sheets are Egyptian linen. There is a skylight within our room that reaches upward like the steeple of a temple and incense burns in all corners of the room, attended by the graces. I am never alone it seems, for I am with my ladies in waiting at all hours of the day and lay in bed at night with my husband.

I do wish to be alone sometimes, to ponder the world of my own volition and create my own opinions separate from those around me. The graces take much time from their day to educate me in the going ons of the world and how the world came to be.

They explain to me that before everything, there was chaos, and that chaos was a great force of creation which spouted out all sorts of children, but that most of them failed to form properly. Finally, after eons of failed children, Chaos spouted out Nyx, Gaia, Tartarus, and Eros. It was the birth of Eros that caused the others to procreate and form the rest of the universe.

From Gaia’s bosom one day lept Ouranos, and he was a cruel creation. He kept Gaia all to himself and impregnated her with 12 children, the titans. The Olympians live on Mount Olympus whereas the titans reside on Mount Othrys. Gaia grew tired of Ouranos having her all to himself so she beckoned her children and asked which of them would like to be the savior of her and their siblings. Cronus, the titan of time, was the only one to step forth. Gaia fashioned a sickle from the sharpest metal of her body and gave it to him, instructing him that the next time Ouranos comes for coitus, he should use it and castrate him.

Hours passed and Ouranos finally came, pulling up his robe and readying himself to penetrate Gaia. From behind a tree Cronus lept and slashed off the penis of his father. He took the penis and threw it high into the air, where it eventually landed in the ocean. Apparently, this is the part where I come in.

When the genitalia landed in the ocean it sank to the depths, and from it foam and semen arose in the waters. That is when the stone of Petra Tou Romiou formed from the whiteness, and I was eventually born after twenty long years of waiting.

I appreciate my education from the graces, but I must admit I would rather be on the earth as a living goddess experiencing life with my people and nurturing them in the flesh. My center of worship so far in Cyprus is Paphos, where they call me Paphia lovingly. Unlike some of the meaner gods of Olympus who refer to me as Philommedes, meaning genital lover. Of all things! Just because I was born of a penis does not mean I should be referred to as genital lover! Although it is a bit funny, I will admit. I can take a joke, of course.

I often take my looking glass and look down on my temple in Paphos. I see worshippers bowing in front of statues painted to resemble my skin tone and hair color. They light incense for me, but that is not the most exciting of their offerings. It seems once a week, a young couple will come to my altar in the dark of the night and sacrifice to me their virginities. I find this extremely devotional to my domain, and I grant them the promise of a long life together. I also enjoy when my followers offer me meat on the pyres of sacrifice, as smelling of the smoke fills my belly and keeps me nice and warm.

Although I appreciate such a sacrificial offering in my name, It saddens me to think that I could experience such love from another if I wasn’t bound to Hephaestus. Every night, while I am in bed, I imagine myself in the arms of a lover. Some nights I imagine the great Ares waging bloody war and coming home to me with spoils of battle taken in my name. I imagine him taking me harshly and loving me in a way Hephaestus never could, or never would.

Other nights I imagine myself in the throes of love with the strong and agile Artemis. She kisses me softly and I am taken with sensation at the thoughts of her sculpted, firm hands and arms. She would bring me home spoils from her hunts that she claims at the side of her nymph sport-partners. I feel ashamed for imagining myself in such a position with Artemis, seeing as how she is bound to Calliope, but I cannot help myself. I cannot help but love.

In late July I am surprised to find that there is a festival being held in my name! It seems the people of Paphos have dedicated a day to me where they lay offerings at the feet of my statues and whisper sweet nothings into the ears of one another celebrating my name and domain over the soft and sensual.

I was given a mask of illusory faces by the graces, an item which allows me to hide myself in the mortal world as a beautiful woman. It seems that every person who looks upon me while the mask is on views a different woman who meets their every secret desire. Some may look upon me and see me nearly as I am, a tall blonde sun-kissed woman with curves and rolls aplenty, while others may look upon me and see a lean Nubian goddess with braids running down my back, and others may see me as a strong Han amazonian of a woman with raven curls gracing my shoulders. It all depends on the beauty desired within the beholder.

I take the mask of illusory faces and sneak out from Olympus, walking down the winding peak and making my way to the chariot stables. The most grand of the chariots is large and steel with thunderbolts carved into the sides, it is driven by eight winged horses whose fur is of the brightest white. My personal favorite of the chariots, besides my own of course, is carved from wood and painted with shades of deep purple and emerald green. It is attached to three peacocks whose feathers reach high into the sky. After passing dozens of stables with chariots of all shapes and sizes led by all manners of mythical creatures, I finally make it to my own chariot which is made of crystalline rose quartz, a beautiful, lustrous sight indeed! It is attached to two large doves that pull it with ease. I notice that Ares' chariot is gone, curious indeed. What business would he have on earth during the day of my festival?

I mount my chariot for the very first time and set off into the sky, feeling the breeze gust through my hair. As I fly through the sky, I see the faces of the four winds adoring me from afar, as they have not seen me since I was first born. I blow them a kiss, and they almost melt into the clouds behind them. I set off towards Cyprus and lower the chariot to the level of the sea. I touch my hand to the waters and giggle as it sprays back on me. Oh, for I have missed the ocean!

The chariot finally finds its way to the beach of Cyprus where I was first born and it stops once it makes its way to the shoreline. I step down onto the ocean surface and walk the rest of the way until I feel the sand between my toes.

There is a group of young girls who stare at me in awe as I cross over the ocean. They gasp with shock as they see flowers sprouting from beneath my toes when I walk along the sand. They ask me if I am she who they celebrate. I bring a finger up to my mouth in a shushing position and give them a wink. I pick a flower from the flora under my feet and put it in the hair of the first girl who approaches. I say to her: a blessing, my child, for you will always possess the beauty of this radiant rose.

They watch as I put on my mask of illusory faces and I once again giggle as I see their jaws drop almost as if to the floor. I imagine the women they must be seeing, and wonder what differences I possess now that I wear the mask.

Walking down the beach, my legs make long strides down the shoreline as I get closer and closer to Paphos. I watch the coast as towns and cities pass me by. Many men on the beach approach me, but I snap my fingers and make them forget as they walk away, leaving me to my travels. One fishing boat even collided into another, distracted, watching me as I pass them by. In this state I am of a height expected of a mortal woman, yet somehow I seem to be spotted from every distance imaginable.

I finally find my way to Paphos, and it is now deep in the evening, the day's festivities are almost to a close, and the nighttime festivities, the private festivities, are about to begin. Walking through the stone streets I look around at the beautiful grecian blue-painted homes surrounding me which lead to a freshly constructed temple in my name. The people dance in groups with flowers in their hair and drummers beat their instruments in a melodious symphony. Lovers kiss one another in locked embraces and I am saddened that I am not in attendance with another.

Seeing that I am distressed, a beautiful man approaches me in a blood red toga decorated with golden embellishments. There is a laurel about his curly brown hair and his face is distinguished by a sharp jawline that I almost feel would cut me should I caress it. He asks me what a gorgeous woman like myself is doing looking so depressed on the day of celebration for the goddess of love. I respond that my husband is at home, taken with his work, and unable to celebrate with me. He invites me for a walk and we make our way into the forest as we stroll along a trail dented within the grass.

He discusses his life with me and goes into the nitty gritty details of his childhood as son to the archon of Paphos. He has lived a luxurious, privileged life where he does not wonder where the food should come from that sits upon the table before him. He explains that he would like to live on his own terms and join the Greek military, which I encourage enthusiastically. He asks me about my own life and I am anxious to respond, as I must make up a lie to tell to this beautiful mortal. I tell him that I am daughter to a cruel man who was an astronomer scholar by trade. He asks me about my mother and I respond that I never knew her. However, my siblings took me away at an early age so I should not be raised by the cruel man we call father.

The man stops in his tracks and puts a hand on my face, he tells me that his name is Aphneius and that while our time together may be short, he thinks he may love me. I respond that my name is Pandemos, and that I may in fact love him too. He pushes his face against mine in a passionate kiss and we lock our arms in one another’s embrace as we are taken with the purest, the sweetest, the most sacred of love. We fall softly to the leafy ground and he and I form into one being as our sexualities merge. Oh, it is glorious! I am finally loved!

We rise to our feet and I again take him in a hug and we stand there rocking back and forth taking in the scent and energy of one another. But as soon as he steps back, he reaches a hand up to his chin and tears off his face!

Before me stands the mighty Ares who looks down upon me from nine feet in height. Thunder rages in the sky as he smiles down, looking upon me with a wicked grin. He announces: fear not and hear me now mortal woman, for I am Ares, god of all battle that is glorious and great. Our love has produced a child which will grow in strength to rival the gods. Take our child and raise it well, for very soon, I will be back to claim it. I now take my leave from you, sweetest of doves.

Before he manages to leave, I am taken with giggles and laughter. I fall to the ground rolling in the leaves because I am so taken with entertainment at the display before me. Ares looks down and cocks an eyebrow, he asks if I am a madwoman. I reply that no, I am simply a delighted one. I reach down to my own chin and rip off the mask of illusory faces. I morph back into my own natural form and height and Ares looks down at me on the ground in horror. He responds: speak of this to no one. Should word of our affair make its way to Olympus, we shall be smited by the wrath of our father.

Suddenly my stomach drops, and I am taken with fear at the prospect of angering Zeus. I am too shaky to make my way back to the chariot, so I simply snap my fingers and find myself back on the peak of Mount Olympus. It is night now, so I make my way back into my bedchambers where I find Hephaestus sleeping. Dammit all, he has returned to the bedchambers before I could make my way back to my bed!

I lie down beside him, creeping into the sheets, and am startled to hear him speak when I relax in the prone. He tells me: Wife, my cheating, unfaithful wife. Eos visited me tonight and told me of your transgressions. Prepare yourself, for once he hears of this, father shall not be happy.

I am scared and I feel alone despite the fact my husband lies next to me. A tear rolls down my face as I try to accept my fate, one that is sure to be grim and full of hardship.

#aphrodite #greek deities #greek gods #greek myth retellings #greek mythology #greek pantheon #short story #fiction #creative writing

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venusiananthology · 10 months ago

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˚ʚ♡ɞ˚La délivrance˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Aphrodite, Cytherea, Cyprogenes, Urania, Areia. These are the names that they call me, the beautiful men and women that surrounded me when I arose from the ocean. I am told that for years I was a small pearl, and then a very large pearl, and that now I am me. Who am I? My hair is long and it is blonde, the color of the orb shining down from the blue canvas which lies above the surface on which I stand. My hair is the color of the sand, the earth on which I first stepped after leaving the rock on which I am told I called home for twenty years.

The people on the beach celebrate my arrival. I watch them from the rock, and as my head turns, they whoop and cheer, and I smile a full grin in return. Unlike my initial welcomers, they are small, and they seem flawed. On the inside that is, they have these flaws which I can almost reach into with an invisible hand and read like a scroll. Wait, what is a scroll? I seem to have this inner knowledge of things that I have not yet encountered. My mind tells me that a scroll is a form of written language and that it is made of papyrus. What is papyrus? Oh, I have so many questions it seems.

My skin is very similar to the large men and women that I encounter on the rock and the small men and women I see on the beach. It is of a tan olive tone and it is freckled, almost as if I had been lying in the sun for many an hour, allowing it to give me kisses that formed the freckles. When I noted this to the men and women on the rock, a floating man with a crown of light looked as if he was blushing. It seems as though these freckles on my body are indeed some sort of a kiss, if I am deducing correctly. When I noted this in my brain, that the man seemed to blush, a woman next to him floating on a cloud hit him on the shoulder. Jealousy, a concept I am sure I will encounter in the future.

When I look down I see two large lumps on my chest peaked by two pink flower-like buds. I lift them up to see below them and my sight catches two thick legs with wide calves under a stomach which hangs slightly over them. My belly is pudgy and smooth to the touch, with soft, blonde peach-fuzz like hair growing on top of it. I reach below my stomach and above my legs to see what lies there in the space between them, and my eyes alight with shock. That is when the three graces who helped me out of the oyster laughed and placed on me a white silken robe and instructed me that I should only consider the area that I had just discovered when in the privacy of my own company, or of someone I loved very much.

Love. I hear the word and am immediately enamored with the concept. I may not yet have experienced much, but this I know: Love is the fated, the prophesied, the always-will-happen magnetization of two beings that creates fire and sparks and consumes entire cities in its search for inspiration. I seem to have some control over this concept of love, as I can feel the connections between the people around me. The grandest of what I am told are the gods stand before me and I feel a warmth radiating between them, like nothing in creation could separate them from one another, like nothing could stand between them and live to tell the tale.

The man is old and he is gray, but he is strong. He is curly haired and his cheeks are incredibly sculpted. I sense in his eyes a grim duty, it seems as though he has suffered much in the past and lived through many stories. I look into his eyes and scenes flash before me and I feel that I am him, birth in a cave to an earth goddess mother, blood splashing before me as my siblings are thrown from my fathers stomach, marriage to my sister-bride, goddess of the ceremony. And then suddenly the visions end, and I am smitten with the man. My face forms into a small grin as I stand before him, and suddenly the woman to his side forcibly introduces herself as Hera, queen of the gods. I am suddenly taken back to reality and put in my place, and my feelings for the supreme god are completely stifled.

The woman is my height, about nine feet tall, and her skin is olive but there are no freckles about it. She is completely smooth like porcelain and her body is slender, very much unlike mine which has curves and rolls all about it. It seems as though the man with the sun on his head knows not to place any kisses on the body of Hera. She then introduces her husband as Zeus, king of the sky and bringer of lightning and thunder. They both tell me that they are to be my care-takers in this world, and that I am for all intents and purposes their daughter.

I am taken aback once again, for I did not think I was to have a family, but it seems as though the gods before me, the large squabbling family full of intrigue and drama and scandal are to be those that I call mine. The graces bow before me, one blonde, one brunette, and one ginger. They tell me that all shall call me Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, love, and desire. They gift me with a beautiful golden belt and inform me that it will cause all who see me to adore me with a sweet passion, that all will consider me to be like jam on the lips, like lotion and oil rubbed onto the skin, like a flower in a meadow that they feel their own soul within, reflecting, like a pearlescent mirror. I smile with glee, I am to be she of love and beauty.

The graces take me by the hands and lead me down stairs carved into the side of the rock and I stand on the last one before glancing down at the ocean before me. I look at them and ask, am I to swim? They laugh cheerfully and explain that no, swimming is for the little people on the shore, and that I am not one of the little people, I am one of the big people. I take a step into the water, and to my surprise, my feet walk on top of it as though it is a solid surface. I begin to walk across the surface, but I am too happy to walk! I break into a sprint and somersault across the ocean before reaching the shore. The people gather around me and cry out in joy, for their goddess has arrived and she has in her heart a love for them which nothing could stifle.

I reach down and hug any whose arms offer embrace. I am offered figs and pomegranates and grapes and I eat of them like a starving dog. I am starving! I have never eaten before! As the juice drips down my face it lands into the sand and from the sand flowers protrude between the grains. I look behind me and see that the earth where I walked has also sprouted luscious flora. I feel in my bones because of the flowers that not only am I she of love and desire, but I am she of fertility. I shall be there to grace the winds when a child is placed into the womb of their mother, I shall be the whisper in the trees when said child is delivered to their eager family. I shall be there.

The graces follow behind me, giggling like children, and get my attention. They tell me that it is time to go to my new home on a mount called Olympus where I will be paraded like a trophy among the gods of this earth and that I will find my place among them as the newest daughter of Zeus and Hera. The rest of the gods follow behind us in a line of splendor and awe, the people on the beach look to their divine creators and some faint with the joy of a believer. The graces once again take me by the hand and lead me to my place within the procession of the immortals. We stand on the beach and my feet begin to feel light as fog forms beneath all of us, the gods. Suddenly the fog stretches out like a large yawn and overtakes us. I float upward and find myself in a throne made of clouds on a surface of clouds where all the gods sit on their respective thrones.

I am grouped with the graces, who I now assume are my ladies in waiting, as their thrones are smaller than mine but still stately and worthy of an immortal. A white bird flies out of nowhere to my side and chirps a melodious tune. My hand reaches out to touch the bird, and it flies up to land on my finger. I call this bird dove, my dove. I sense that it is mine. I look to the front of the cloud and see Zeus and Hera sitting upon their thrones, each holding the hand of the other as the cloud takes off into the sky. On the fist of Zeus sits a bird much larger than mine with a razorous beak and a head of white feathers but a body of gray. Its eyes flicker to me and I am scared by it. I must look away.

Behind the throne of Zeus lies a large beast of brown fur and two large horns. It is called a bull, as I am told by the man sitting to my right when he notices me staring at it. He looks at me and licks his lips, he is nine foot tall like myself and has a statuesque body that is oiled and laden with scars from what I can only assume are the fiercest of battles. His hair is long and braided and the darkest of blacks, it lays to the side over his shoulder and falls onto his chest. Oh. His chest. His pecks are like marble and they lie above a stomach of abs. This man has no woman to his side, and I feel that I am allowed to be smitten with this one. I ask him jokingly while pointing to his figure if he’d like to see my stomach too, and he replies with a smirk that he’s seen much, much more. I can’t help but blush the same way Helius did when I hear him say that.

The cloud finally arrives on the misty peaks of a mountain with a trail leading up. One by one, the gods get up from their thrones as the cloud pushes into the side of the mountain and dissipates as the immortals begin their ascent to the peak. I hear a melody enveloping the group as nine nymphs, I am told they are called the muses, start to encircle the procession and sing a song about the day that Aphrodite was born. I am brought to tears by the sheer beauty of the epic tune which describes me and the day that I emerged from the oyster. The graces take me by the hands once more and lead me up the mountain, explaining that I am too delicate to walk up the winding path on my own, but then I remember that I am also Areia, and insist I go on my own. The graces comply.

I look around me as I walk on and watch as the grass at the bottom of the peak of Olympus grows into trees and shrubbery and flowers and lakes and rivers. Within the green and blue I make out nymphs, Oreads, the spirits of this mountain. They are playing in the water and chasing one another amongst the branches. I see them cackle at one another's jokes and kiss like lovers. Suddenly one of the nymphs jumps from the forestry and runs through the procession, and behind her is a man with ovine legs pursuing her passionately. He calls out to her like they are in a lovers quarrel, and before my eyes the nymph stands in place and sprouts roots and a trunk and turns into a tree! Oh what a glorious land this is that I stand on!

We reach a clearing, and sitting in this clearing is a large palace of marble, it reminds me of the man I sat next to on the throne of clouds, large and proud. The procession continues into the palace, and I look around to see the space decorated with rugs of oriental nature depicting on them great battles and meetings of lovers and the emergence of gods. There are potted plants everywhere, and on their urns, I see similar paintings. There are shelves carved into every wall and within them I see scientific devices of all shapes and sizes, I also see scrolls which I assume have knowledge only the eyes of immortals are made to see. Incense burns in every corner attended by nymphs and they all look to the procession to watch me in veneration.

Zeus and Hera glance back at me as I look around at all the nymphs with love radiating from my heart, and they beam at me with the loving embrace of parents watching their newborn come home for the very first time. The man from the cloud comes up behind me and places a hand on my waist as he speaks. He says that this is all for me, and refers to me in name as beautiful. We converse as we walk on into the main auditorium where the court lines into a half circle. Zeus and Hera walk onto the stage and begin a speech.

I look around myself and observe the rest of my family fully for the very first time. The first person to catch my eye is a woman of my height, so I can only assume she is another of the greater gods. She has long brown hair and stands in a full suit of armor carrying a large spear. I feel a sudden pain in my forehead as I look upon her and notice a scar on the forehead of Zeus. Her eyes are deep set and the color of the ocean, her nose is slender and has a peak in the center, almost as if a sylvan hill of green sits upon her face. She is as beautiful as any goddess. Thalia, the ginger grace, tells me her name is Athena.

On the other end of the court, I see a pair of twins who look exactly alike, the only thing separating their appearance being gender. They have the same young, impish features of almond eyes and thick cupid’s-bow-like lips. The man has a crown of light smaller than that of Helius but still blindingly radiant. The woman has a small glowing crescent which floats above her head. Euphrosyne sees my curious stare and notes that they are the day and night dualities called Apollo and Artemis. Artemis’s imposing body causes a reaction of warmth in my own, but I look to her side and am disappointed. A lesser goddess standing at seven feet tall is at her side and holds her by the hand. Another pair in which I am unwelcome.

I listen to Zeus for a while addressing the procession but my curiosity again takes my attention away. Standing next to Athena is a woman who looks just like Hera except her features are rounder than Hera’s striking avian features. Her chestnut hair is twisted up into a bun and she wears a green toga fitted to her waist with a rope that hangs down her legs. Aglaea, standing at seven feet tall like her sisters, tugs me by the robe and I look down. She whispers to me that the woman I am looking at is called Demeter. Holding Demeter’s hand is a man that the man on the clouds tells me is called Poseidon. He wears blue and his long beard of white trickles into water that dissipates into fog before it hits the ground.

At the back of the procession is a dark and brooding man wearing black that nobody will tell me the name of. Finally, the man on the clouds places his chin on my shoulder and murmurs softly into my ear that his name is Ares. Suddenly I hear my name from the mouth of Zeus, and my attention is caught. He announces that because so many have already offered their hand in marriage to me, he shall be the one to decide who I am to be in matrimony with. I lower my eyes in disappointment. I was just born today and already I am to be bound to one man. I feel my eyes swell with tears as a man walks from behind Zeus, ugliest of the gods. He wears a beige toga and holds a large hammer in his hand. I am not excited for the announcement I expect to come.

Zeus reveals to the court to the return of gasps and awes that my husband is to be Hephaestus, god of the blacksmiths. Hera reaches her hand out for me, nodding her head, and I walk forward as the eyes of the procession watch me. I see the envy of all the men following my figure as I continue onward onto the stage where I am to be married and sent to my bedchambers like a cow to the slaughter. Ares looks at me with a melancholy gaze and I sense in him a similar disappointment, as it would seem our places next to each other on the clouds was a cruel joke meant to fool me into thinking I was to be his. I could have accepted being his. But this man before me on the stage, I cannot accept being his. I stare into his eyes, and I see nothing but a passion for his work, a passion for his craft. It is as if he is the only man unaffected by me, as his heart has already been won over by another.

#aphrodite #greek deities #greek gods #greek myth retellings #greek mythology #greek pantheon #short story #fiction #creative writing

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