Mythology Is Where I Want To Cohabitate
I could go utterly and clinically insane filling tomes just about you�
�and be perfectly content doing so.
You are a siren the likes of which the ancient Greeks have never seen, a version of the human race that defies classification and one extremely hot babe.
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The Assassin
The archer stalks his prey with precision that is older than time itself; grace and skill that are simply eternal. He finds the perfect vantage point and ponders the party before him. He absently toys with his magical weapon, gently plucking the bow string his fingers cause the implement to hum and jump with even the tiniest of movements. With a satisfied nod the would be assassin of souls smirks and prepares to fire. Muscles bulge and wood creaks as he draws the arrow so it just touches his cheek. Breathing exercises are conducted as they have been for millennia and with a flick of the wrist, the arrow screams into the warm desert night.
Our hero is unaware of the plight that is about to befall him as he trudges along with his companions laughing and enjoying the cooling October night. Without warning the volley strikes home. The mystic bolt slams into his back, tearing through flesh and bone before protruding through the front of his chest; a direct hit, straight through the heart. For added measure, the archer from afar peppers his victim with several more precision shots, better to be safe than sorry.
The bemused expression upon the mans face goes unnoticed by his companions, nor can they see as he does the appearance of several cherubs that are suddenly circling his head playing harps and dousing him with confetti. A brilliant burst of light reigns down around him as the heavens open up in a 2 foot by 2 foot square that follows him along as he continues his walk. His perplexed state grows as life slows to a crawl and he feels if he has been plunged into a stop motion animated after school special. Struggling for comprehension, he calls to his party for them to hold fast and let him catch up; and then it happens.
She turns to him and for a second she is replaced by a Phoebe Kates look-a-like and at this point, time no longer has a meaning. She shakes out her hair and prances in his direction. Her smile blinds him and causes an acceleration in his heart beat; each step seems to accentuate nuances of her being that he had never noticed before. His lips turn to jello, his mouth a barren wasteland and for some reason he can�t even begin to comprehend his knees begin to quiver and his breath comes in short gasps. After what seems like forever, but is really only seconds, she is upon him and when she reaches out a hand to pull him along their flesh touches�and the sky explodes in fireworks, while the 1812 overture blasts to life from all direction being carried to his ears on speakers he can�t seem to see. He floats several inches off the ground and his mind erupts into to passionate thoughts he can longer control.
In his state of mental inebriation, our hero fails to see the change in terrain and tumbles to the earth; asshole over elbows and down he goes. Once he is helped to his feet, the spell is broken; the cherubs, the music the strange lighting, everything is gone just as quickly as it came. But even as he is about to dismiss his hallucination, his companion flashes him a quick smile and he can�t deny the feeling that somehow things are now different. He shakes his head to try and clear the cobwebs from his cranial outburst and absently scratches an itch on his back that happens to be the exact spot where the arrow pierced his soul. Shouting and laughing the unaware companions once again chase away into the night.
With a final backwards glance at the smitten (but not smited) man, Cupid once again smiles to himself at another job well done before fading into the nothingness from where he came.
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