Achilles. The man who had killed my beloved cousin.

Achilles. The man who had come to war with my country so he could have his glory.

Achilles. The man who had been given my heart and then threw it away.

As I stood in the still peacefulness of the Temple, I thought back to how this war had changed my life. It had killed many people. It had taken Hector away from me. It had shown me a faint glimmer of what it was to love a man. Yes, love. For as much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, I knew that I loved Achilles. As much as I hated him for killing my family and for putting me through this endless guilt, I loved him. I loved him for the way he had saved me from the soldiers. I loved him for the way he had held me even when we both knew it would only be a short time before our world of wishful thinking came crashing down around us. I loved him for the way he had respected me to make my own choices, and let me come to him of my own free will. I let out a small sigh as I knelt in front of the statue of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love. How could I still love the man who had destroyed everything I held dear? How could I still wish that I was back in that camp with his arms wrapped around me and his breath winding through my hair? I knew that I shouldn't still feel this, but I knew I couldn't stop it either. He had changed me, completely and irrevocably.

Achilles. I hate him and yet I love him.