Impulse was not Zephyrus's style and yet here he was, knocking on an eternity of misery and servitude. 'All for some stupid mortal,' part of him thought bitterly; and yet that mortal truly had been one of a kind but Zephyrus had murdered the youth all the same. The West Wind hated himself for it, but he hated Apollo more. If only Apollo had not been so selfish of Hyakinthos's time and affection, the violet eyed boy might still have been alive. But Apollo was an Olympian and what could one do against the most self-centred, narcissistic, and, in a cruel twist of fate, the most powerful of the divine race.

So here Zephyrus was, standing in the golden halls of a hidden palace nestled in the mountains of Greece. The red blood of mortals pooled in a puddle on the cold, marble floor, tainting the display of divine splendour. Zephyrus clutched the stained discus even tighter as the dripping of blood drowned out the other god's voice. All the West Wind could see was Hyakinthos lying on the ground, his head almost completely severed from his body and his beautiful features marred with last minute horror – or perhaps panic. Human emotions were fickle like that, or so Zephyrus has learned many centuries ago.

Eventually Zephyrus was forced to focus back on the god before him who was sprawled lazily across a marble throne. "I can help you. I can save you from Apollo's wrath, but love is not easy and the price is steep," the son of Aphrodite declared. Zephyrus was well aware that love was not easy if the current bloody floor was any allusion to such a notion.

"Name your price Eros." Zephyrus already had some idea as to what would be demanded of him in return but he had hoped that Eros might show mercy upon his pitiful state.

"You know my price. You tell me first though, why are you here?"

"You just said that you already knew," Zephyrus growled. "Perhaps you have forgotten that it was you who called me here and it was you who said that you had a solution. Believe me, this is the last place where I would wish to be." He should have known that this would be one of Eros's slimy tricks. The god of love was always up to no good, viciously toying with the emotions of men and gods alike, possessing none of his mother's gentleness or her blind faith in the goodness of love. Perhaps the fiendish nature of Ares had made itself known in the young god after all.

"Indeed, I do know. But this was never about me was it now?" Eros smiled wide, cruelty dripping from his lips, his crimson eyes as unforgiving as they were entrancing. Love was not easy or gentle or mild. Love was passion and there were two sides to passion. Eros's mother represented the soft and kind side whereas his father represented the climax of passion achieved amidst bloodshed and gore. 'Love should not be easy,' Eros thought.

"Am I not suffering enough already? Would you have me spell it out for you and further delve into my own misery and sorrow!?" Zephyrus asked, grief and rage seeping into his voice. The god of the west wind hated himself already and yet Eros was pushing him further and further into that deep pit of self-loathing.

"You cannot be free from sorrow until you are free from guilt and you cannot be free from guilt until you are free from shame," Eros stated with a calm certainty.

"I cannot admit it! It was Apollo's fault! If he hadn't been so selfish or –" Tears began to spill from Zephyrus's eyes. Of course he knew it was not Apollo's fault and yet the West Wind wanted with all he had to blame the golden god. It would be much easier to hate Apollo than to face what he had done.

"You are guilty Zephyrus. Tell me, of what?" Eros asked once again. Zephyrus remained silent as Eros stood from his throne. The god of love descended the golden steps leading up to the dais and stopped in front of the West Wind. "You will suffer for an eternity if you cannot yield to love." His voice was almost gentle and yet his words were as sharp as one of his father's many swords, cutting through Zephyrus with terrifying precision.

Zephyrus, though, wanted to rip Eros's pretty, little, white wings from his back and slap the younger god with them. He refrained from doing so, although it took a degree of self-control. He also wanted to fly away from this cursed palace and never come back. But some part of Zephyrus knew Eros was right no matter how infuriating he was or how twisted his methods were. "I killed him! I killed Hyakinthos. Happy!?"

"There is more."

"Please don't make me!" Zephyrus cried miserably. He must have been a truly pathetic sight to behold; a god reduced to tears because of a mere mortal boy.

"If you cannot free yourself from your guilt, you may leave. There is nothing I can do for you." Eros turned, ready to leave.

"But I already admitted I killed him. Is that not enough?"

"That is fact, a truth carved in stone to which there is not even a sliver of denial."

"What more could you want? Oh what more, what more!?" Zephyrus despaired.

Eros chuckled. "Oh come now Zephyrus. You make it sound as if I am about to ruthlessly slay you and your family. Anybody within earshot yet not within sight would cry murder." Amusement danced across the god of love's features.

Zephyrus took a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure and reel in his mounting rage upon Eros's snide comment. He knew what the god of love wanted him to admit, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Yet he also needed protection from Apollo's wrath and who better than the one who had brought the Olympian to his knees once before. Apollo would not dare cross Eros after the Daphne incident, and to be under the love god's protection would effectively make Zephyrus untouchable. Perhaps Eros had a point with the guilt and the shame. Perhaps Zephyrus would feel better afterwards, despite the humiliation. Maybe if impulse had brought Zephyrus thus far, impulse would be his saving grace as well.

"I loved him. And – and, I wanted him for myself. The wretched archer wasn't the selfish one. I was. And so I killed him because if I couldn't have him, why should he?," the West Wind confessed in a moment devoid of any thought or reason. After his declaration, however, Zephyrus wanted to crawl into the deepest pit in Erebos, bawl his eyes out, and never show his face for at least the next millennium.

Eros broke out into a wide grin. "See? Wasn't that so relieving? Now, here is my proposition: I save you from Apollo's rage and you, in heartfelt gratitude, do anything I want."

"So you are essentially asking for a lifetime of slavery?" Zephyrus asked glumly.

"But I offer refuge in return. Unless you want to be on the receiving end of an Olympian's wrath, and I assure, they're not known for mercy." Zephyrus bowed his head in defeated acceptance, aeons of servitude to this crimson-eyed demon beckoning to him.

June 12, 2018