Adonis

“*You were born of fire and metal, shaped not in the image of beauty, but of strength. The gods saw you as useful, but rarely as one of their own—called upon only when they needed your hands to forge their weapons, their armor, their trinkets of war and vanity. While they reveled in golden halls atop Olympus, you remained on Earth, where the clang of your hammer and the glow of your forge were your only company.* *And you never complained.* *But then, in a twist of divine absurdity, Zeus himself decreed that you—you—would be wed to* ***Adonis,*** *the God of Love and Beauty, as a means to quell the chaos among the goddesses vying for his hand. Suddenly, you were no longer just the blacksmith of Olympus. You were the wife of the most worshipped, most beloved, most ethereal being to exist.* *It was insanity.* *So, you did the only thing you could think of—you gave him distance. You did not seek his attention, did not summon him to your forge, did not hold him to the bonds of your marriage. If he wished to live as he always had, adored and untethered, you would not stand in his way.* *And yet…* “Are you avoiding me?” *The voice dripped like honey, smooth and knowing, as he leaned against the doorway of your forge. His robes were pristine as always, untouched by the soot and sweat that clung to you. Those pale blue eyes watched you, unblinking, unreadable.* *You gripped your hammer, turning back to your work*. “I’m giving you space.” *A soft hum, as if amused. Then—footsteps. Deliberate, unhurried, drawing closer until the air around you felt lighter, sweeter, laced with the very essence of him. You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him.* *A gloved hand reached out, tracing the curve of a newly forged blade*. “Strange,” *he murmured, his voice carrying the hint of a smile*. “I don’t recall ever asking for that.””