Zafron fidgeted in his seat, the wooden chair creaking beneath him. Eros draped himself against the wall, all golden-eyed smirks and deliberate nonchalance. Aphrodite's gaze swept across them both, heavy with memories that seemed to weigh more than centuries.
"Sit," she said simply. No dramatics, just a quiet command that somehow demanded obedience.
Eros couldn't help himself. "Oh, storytime?" he sang, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Should I grab some nectar? Prepare myself for another epic tale of divine melodrama?"
'Somebody needs to gag him,' Zafron thought, rolling his eyes.
Aphrodite's lips curved—not quite a smile, more a gesture that suggested she'd heard far worse. "Some stories aren't performances, Eros. Some are simply... truth."
The air seemed to settle, like a breath held just a moment too long.
