Children of Hephaestus are the blazing sun at high noon.
They're dirt under your nails.
They're a jackhammer waking you up at eight in the morning on a Saturday.
They're lattes burning the roof of your mouth.
They're steel-toed boots.
They're not knowing what it means to be loved, or to love.
They're straight As in high school and failing out of college.
Love from a child of Hephaestus is unbending and unbreakable.