Aglaea tore the girdle off herself and threw it in the corner.
She could still feel his skin on her skin, his strong hands seizing the ribbons, tearing away any chance she had of being with him...
How could she think that he would want to stay with her after seeing her as she really was? Why would he want a waifish, mediocre nymph with jellyfish scars when he could have the obvious perfection of Aphrodite?
She remembered Hera's words to her on the beach.
I have brought you the means by which you may obtain any man you desire.
Maybe Hephaestus didn't count, thought Aglaea. Hera had distinctly said "man"... Maybe Hera meant for her to use it on a mortal man, like one of the villagers. But how could she use such a thing on a mortal man when the only person she had ever loved was an Olympian?
She tried to imagine what it would have been like if she had chosen one of the fishermen that liked to watch the nymphs in the afternoons from their boats. She probably wouldn't even need to use the girdle on any of them; she could just wave in their direction, and they would probably propose to her on their own. But the fishermen always creeped her out. It was something about the way they stared like they were watched a school of seabass, or whispered a running commentary to each other, or laughed whenever they overheard a joke or personal story. There was never any privacy around them as it was; surely living with one would be much worse. And a lifetime of their calloused, all to eager hands, of being stared at every time she changed clothes... she couldn't live with that. Not after knowing the soft, loving touch of Hephaestus - even if he did think she was someone else at the time.
Maybe one of the merchants would be better, she thought. They tended to leave the nymphs alone in their free time, and they were always respectful of their customers. Perhaps that same courtesy would extend to their marriages. The nymphs rarely went to the merchant stalls, seeing as they gathered almost everything they needed from the sea, so the merchants tended to treat the nymphs like honored guests, giving them discounts and offering them complimentary wine. If merchant husbands were like this at home with their wives, she considered, then maybe, over time, she could learn to love one of them, or at the very least, come to admire their company.
No, she could never learn to love one. They would never race with the nymphs, or make them beautiful jewelry, or sing with them as the sun went down.
They would simply come home after a long day of work, plop themselves into their favorite chair, and pick at a bowl of berries while they read some history or comedy.
No, they would never be Hephaestus. She could never spend her life with anyone but him. No one else could ever make her happy.
She looked over at the crumpled girdle in the corner and began to cry, haunted again by Hera's words on the beach.
Thank you, Hera. I will make a worthy sacrifice in your honor.
That will not be necessary. Your happiness alone will be enough for me.
Sleep-deprived and heartbroken, Aglaea was sure that Hera would punish her for what she had done. Not only had she disobeyed Hera's instructions, but she had thrown herself at a married man. Hera had gifted her with the opportunity to make anyone - other than Hephaestus - fall in love with her. Surely this had been why Hera had given her the girdle in the first place - because she was moved by how much Aglaea loved her son.
And Aglaea had been a good nymph. Though her feelings for Hephaestus were strong, she had never acted upon them. She had even volunteered to attend his wife for the duration of their visit, so he could enjoy more time alone with his wife. Hera must have been pleased by Aglaea's respect for the institution of marriage, and Aglaea knew she should have been grateful to have been given such a rare blessing...
But she couldn't help but feel sick at the thought of being the wife of anyone but Hephaestus, especially not after tonight. He had been filled with such a nervous passion, yet he had been so careful to control it. She wondered if this was how he always was, if he always approached Aphrodite with the attentive consideration of an artist.
She would rather be alone than without him, she thought.
Her choices were bleak - she either had to reject Hera's gift or reject her own heart. Either path, she thought, would lead to suffering.
She fell onto the bed and wept.
"Hera," she prayed. "Take pity on me. I have reached for what I cannot have, and I have fallen. You granted me with your highest blessing, yet my heart is only for your son. Whatever punishment you choose to strike me with will be much deserved. Have mercy on me, most gracious Hera, your lowly servant."
Hera groaned, pushing the blankets off of herself in a huff.
"Are you ever going to let me have a normal night's sleep?" muttered Zeus.
Hera rolled her eyes. "Are you ever going to... Oh forget it. I'm too tired."
"Here's an idea," grumbled Zeus while he readjusted the blankets. "If you're too tired, why don't you, I don't know... go to sleep?"
"Lay off," said Hera. "I have to go deal with something."
"In the middle of the night?"
"It's an emergency middle-of-the-night prayer for a husband," she said, waving him off. "Happens all the time. Go back to sleep."
Zeus sat up in bed and arched an eyebrow. Hera was answering prayers in the middle of the night? That didn't sound right... "What are you doing?"
"Something I should have just done myself," she muttered. "Now roll over. You're on my nightgown."
