In which Saskia Martinez met Eros, the god of love himself, and got her heart entangled in a major love disaster. Except nobody told her the supposed mythical being was a teenage boy wearing a ripped varsity shirt, who dangled men in the air-by the...
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THERE WERE some things... some things in this world that were out of his control.
Just like how his arrows could not control their targets' decisions, just as one couldn't choose who their parents were, or who and what they were born as in the world. Or what to feel... or who to fall in love with.
Eros lifted his hand and felt the arrow forming on his palms. His gaze lingered on it for moments, and as his fingers closed, a soft smile came unbidden—the cheery voice carried by the wind whispered to his ears... "Accio arrow!"
The clock struck seven.
Minutes ticked by and Eros' gaze focused on the young man inside the restaurant, occupying the table in the corner.
Her blind date.
More seconds passed... and then, there she was—in a yellow coat, walking with her head down as though trying to memorize all the scrapes and dents on the pavement—no doubt making up stories on how they came to be; contemplating the reasons why they were there, and what role they'd play on the people's lives whose feet trudged on them every day. He could already picture her imagining all sorts of ideas, writing them down in her journal.
She halted on the entrance of the restaurant.
Eros gripped the bow tighter in his hand.
Saskia pushed open the glass doors.
He loaded the arrow, feet wide apart.
She greeted the boy, shook his hands, and smiled that dazzling smile.
With eyes glazed by unspeakable emotion... the god of love aimed. And just as she laughed at what that boy said, Eros inhaled deep. Held it in for long. Knowing that if he breathed out so suddenly, pieces of his heart would come apart with it.
Unsteady fingers tightened their grip on the arrow's end, dove feathers brushing against his fingertips.
Soft... they were soft, and yet they felt like sharp knives cutting his skin.
He knew pain like this; he knew that taking out an arrow was even more painful than being hit by it.
But she was laughing... her eyes sparkled with life.
It was all he needed to see.
She was happy... she'd be happy for a long time.
It was all he wanted her to be.
And so, with the god of love's hard, painfully slow exhale, his fingers loosened their hold... and the arrow was released. It tore through the air, and into the mortal's heart, just as it should be hundreds of years ago...
Just as it should be now.
Because as much as it was terribly confusing and eternally maddening to understand, there were some things that were out of one's control. But everyone has a choice.
