Slave of the Death - Kore

After weeks of recurring, unsettling dreams, my curiosity began to gnaw at me. I felt an urge to explore, to unravel the enigma of the mysterious man who had invaded my dreams.

With each passing night, I delved deeper into the dream world, losing myself in its labyrinthine corridors. He was there, a haunting presence that both frightened and exhilarated me. In those dreams, he touched me, and kissed me, igniting feelings I had never experienced before. He was the moon simply, moonlight wonder. I wanted him to own me.

Throughout the summer, I found myself surrendering to these dreams. Naked and vulnerable, I floated in my mother's outdoor bathhouse, embracing sensations of freedom and bliss. The dream man made me feel beautiful, a sentiment I had never associated with myself before.

My life had been one of purity and beauty, nurtured by the warmth of the earth and my connection to it. As the goddess of spring, the earth molded and bent to my soul. I pulsated with the ground, drew breath with the wind, and bled with the death of plants.

But on the day of my eighteenth birthday, everything changed. The weight of newfound expectations pressed upon me as I entered adulthood. My mother, Demeter, the goddess of agriculture, bound me and my friends to a lifetime of servitude to the earth. Our duty was to nourish, to tend, to sustain. We were the embodiment of the earth's essence, bound to its cycles and whims. We shaped the rock, mountains, and planet itself. It was a duty unlike any other gods or goddesses, a prison.

I loved the earth, ever since I was a little girl I loved being outside. I grew flowers for friends and stayed out until dark. I loved cooking with spices from the earth, and food I had grown with love and care. The earth was everything I had ever known.

As I grew older under my mother's care my power and connection to life itself only proved to oscillate. There was simply no limit to what I could create.

Through my efforts, I sculpted and nurtured life, bringing abundance and vitality to the land. My earth thrived under my care, its bountiful yield feeding the Olympians and mortals alike.

My earth.

My mother forbade me to say that. But despite the praise and accomplishments, I was not permitted to claim the earth as my own. My mother's stern reminders echoed in my ears, emphasizing the importance of humility and obedience to Zeus, my father. I was to serve him dutifully, to curb any inkling of pride or possession.

And so, I lived a life defined by duty and restraint. Plain dress, strict schedules, and abstinence were my companions. My mother's teachings were grounded in devotion and selflessness. Marriage was forbidden, and any romantic or sexual inclinations were sternly suppressed.

But the dreams.

At first, I fought them, attempting to stay awake for days on end. But eventually, exhaustion overcame me, and I succumbed to their pull.

The dreams existed in a realm shrouded in darkness and coldness. Amidst this obscurity, he emerged – the man with raven-black hair, his arms adorned with mysterious marks, and his piercing blue eyes. Eyes that seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light in the darkness.

In the dream, time seemed to dissolve, my agency slipping away. His touch was ice on my skin, and I struggled to avert my gaze from his penetrating eyes. It was as if my very soul was ensnared by his gaze, a prisoner to his will.

The dreams progressed, leading me to moments of intimacy that both exhilarated and terrified me. A kiss that left me waking up in cold sweats, my heart racing. For an inexperienced young woman like me, these experiences were overwhelming, laden with emotions I couldn't decipher. I feared my father could see my dreams, I feared I was being hunted by a demon from his past. Or even worse, Kronos himself, my father's father, sought revenge by chasing me through my dreams.

As the days unfolded, the dreams grew more intricate, and my longing to understand their meaning deepened. But explanations remained elusive, hidden beneath layers of confusion. We were lovers in our dreams, but what was love? How could I love such a frightening, enigmatic figure?

Morning after morning, I grappled with these thoughts, trying to reconcile my waking world with the dreams that had taken root within me. I remained faithful to my responsibilities, nurturing the earth, and serving the Olympians with devotion.

All summer I had found myself here, a quiet serenade, as I luxuriated in the gentle embrace of my mother's outdoor bathhouse. A sacred respite where my thoughts were free to wander, until this evening's peace was stolen, shattered like fragile glass. The earth whispered a secret, its subtle vibrations alerting me to hidden observers. Men. Their laughter, both a thrill and a violation, reached my ears.

“What do we have here?” one of them inquired, his voice as handsome as the towering form I soon recognized.

Eros. The god of desire, sculpted and captivating. My mother would see it as sacrilege, his very presence. Her warnings echoed in my mind, stern and protective. She had forbidden me from even looking at him in court.

Startled, I called out, demanding to know who was there. The laughter continued, and their approach became evident. I saw them – Eros in all his glory, and another figure, one whom I could not see clearly within the shadows.

“It’s polite to make eye contact with god's little nymph” Eros chided, I could sense him coming closer. I tried to avert my eyes, to hide my nakedness and shame, but his demand for eye contact was unwavering.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Look at me,” he commanded, his voice an elegant threat. Gritting my teeth, I obeyed, my eyes finding him in a challenge I was unsure I could win.

But then, another emerged from the shadows of the marble columns. Tall and crisp in his movements, he dwarfed even Eros. His stature was that of one of the three supremes, but surely, it couldn't be. I dared to meet his gaze, the water my only veil. Could it be? It couldn’t.

Standing before me was not merely a man but something more. A demi-god? Another immortal? My eyes traced the lines of his form, from his powerful legs to his broad chest, finally resting on his face. His eyes were amethyst and haunting.

The amethyst eyes of my dreams. My cheeks flamed with recognition. It was him, the phantom who had pursued me night after night, in dreams I could no longer distinguish from nightmares.

The longing, the terror, the touches and the kisses. All so real now, as he stood before me. My breath caught, and I fought to find myself again. The dreams, did he also know of them? Did he have any idea who I was?

A whisper passed between amethyst-eyes and Eros, whose confusion now mirrored my own.

“Hello, little nymph. Don’t be shy. What’s your name?” Eros's voice was softer now, his question unexpected.

My anonymity seemed a shield and a curse. Would my concealed identity protect me or precipitate my downfall?

Perhaps Eros was blinded by my unbound hair or the naked truth of my body, so unlike the modest attire, my mother had always insisted upon.

“Do you dare make the gods repeat themselves? What is your name?” Eros's anger surged, his reputation for wrath as vivid as his beauty.

I trembled, fear silencing me.

“I-I’m not allowed to talk to strangers,” I finally whispered, tears brimming. Courage had been my companion all summer, but now, faced with these formidable gods, it abandoned me. I longed for my mother, her strength, her rules.

"Not allowed to talk to strangers? How old are you, twelve?” Eros taunted, his steps a graceful dance around the pool.

“I-I’m…” Words failed me. My voice, my resolve, my fantasies—all had led me here, to this precipice. Now, I stood naked and exposed, at the mercy of the gods, the dream, and the desires I had dared not admit, even to myself.

With a leap, Eros joined me in the pool.

“Eros, please don’t,” I said, now crying in hysterics.

“Ah, see. A little fan of mine?” Eros asked me, approaching. “Look at me” he commanded with compulsion. It was a feeling I hated. Only the strongest Olympians could do it.

“Please-please no” I cried. I had been trained to resist compulsion, trained for this exact moment to protect myself.