Eros and Charissa
A Greek Myth
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In the ancient land of Greece, the origins of the famed god of love and passion were debated. He had become so widely known to the people that when they moved on, they took stories of him with them and, as the inevitable grapevine would have it, the stories became skewed. He was the first god to create all others and bring the earth and the skies together; he was Aphrodite's son and attendant; he had been born of the night and of darkness. Poets romanticised him in appearance and deed, and suddenly he was an innocent child never to grow up.
Eros, the god in question, loved to hear his own name and see the results of his handiwork. He knew that he was old, and in listening to the prattle of mortals, he barely remembered himself where he indeed was born.
But wherever he came from, and whoever had sired him… it did not mean in any way that Aphrodite should have such a hold over him, able to bring him to heel with only a word. He was no one's lapdog.
"My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great," he groused, as if the goddess were there to hear it; though perhaps if she had been, he would have held his tongue. He looked to the skies, and from his perch on the hill down to the meadow, and the city that lay beyond. "You have no power over me!"
His eyes drifted back over the earth, the coming temper tantrum immediately being quenched as they came to rest on a lonely figure in the field. Golden curls caught the light and he was startled by the sheer beauty of what appeared to be a mortal. Curious, he spread his wings and flew to land lightly behind the stranger.
A girl, it seemed, just entering womanhood and already blooming to become quite lovely. He thought he recognized her, though most of her kind looked the same to him. She lived in the city. Something –cissa? Charissa, was that it? No matter. He was tense, and here was a pretty plaything just waiting for his attention.
Reaching into his quiver, he drew out an arrow of gold and dove feathers. Notching it into the bow that always rested with him, he smirked, and pulled back the string.
The sharp, stabbing pain that pierced her heart caused Charissa to freeze, the delicate flowers crushed in her suddenly trembling hands. Slowly, the pain became a throbbing; blossoming from her chest throughout her body and making her breath hitch with the inexplicable feeling of mindless bliss. Her clenched fists went slack, and broken petals drifted from her hands to the earth below. A pleasurable haze blurred her vision and the girl felt the world tilt as somehow, somehow she stumbled to her feet and turned.
An angel stood before her.
Eros contained the smirk that threatened to cross his handsome features. The thrill of seeing his power take over a person, be they god, mortal or nymph, was nearly as pleasing as the amusement that followed. He strode forward, stopping only a few paces away from the girl still caught in the temporary nirvana that his arrows induced. She rose from her kneeling position, staggering, her movements drunken and sluggish.
He could actually see the pure, unadulterated love that filled her as blue eyes turned on him; it spread through her form just as the power of his arrow had, until every part of her was aching for him.
Charissa blinked, very slowly, not knowing that the god took a moment to admire the beauty that she seemed so unaware of. Just as she was unaware of everything now but the deity before her, just a few steps away… just out of her reach…
"My love?" she breathed, her small hands clasping over her heart. She knew the words were right the moment that she spoke them. This man, whoever he was… he was hers, and she was his, and everything was right in the world as long as he was there. Thoughts of anything but him fled her mind, and for a moment she forgot her own name.
Complete and utter obsession overtook her.
The young woman took a small step, and for once in a life grace also abandoned her as she tripped over the basket of flowers that she'd been working so hard for – and, strangely enough, didn't seem to matter now. All that mattered was the blood that rushed to her face as a heavenly sound filled the air; she realized that her love was laughing, and a sweet smile spread over her face even as she blushed in embarrassment.
Her blush intensified, taking on a new emotion as her fall was stopped by two strong arms wrapping around her slender body, cradling it close.
She breathed in his scent, savouring the feeling of being held by the one person that gave her reason for living.
Eros did allow the smirk, now.
And then the world shattered.
"Don't touch me, witch."
Charissa started. She looked up, and her love was scowling down at her, his beautiful visage marred by anger. Then suddenly there was pain as she was shoved away, tripping over the basket yet again and falling to the ground.
"Witch?" she inquired, voice soft with confusion. "My love, who are you speaking to?"
Something wet hit her cheek, and her blue eyes went round with shock. A part of her mind tried to rationalise why he would spit on her, while the other claimed that it was simply rain. Rain was coming. He would never do such a thing!
Eros sneered at the comely, pathetic creature before him, barely able to restrain his glee as he spoke. "I'm not your love, witch. Spawn of evil, do you know who you are speaking to?"
The frown did not become her, he decided, as she stuttered, "I-I… I am Charissa, and you are- ...my love," she finished lamely. The comment of evil had not even registered in her brain, fogged as it was.
"I am Eros, god of love," he stated his title. "Love for all but you, my dear." The seeds planted, he took his leave, unfurling his golden wings as he prepared to fly from the meadow. She would come for him. They always did.
When he was gone from the skies, Charissa looked down. Dirt smeared the clean white linen of her clothing.
It didn't matter.
Basket and flowers forgotten, she hurried to her home, no doubt to be scolded by her mother.
That didn't matter either.
Eros. That was his name.
Where had she heard it before…?
