Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fuck that.

She crossed her arms defiantly in case nobody had picked up on the distaste in her voice, but then immediately uncrossed them because the movement made her realize she was sweating.

Ew! she thought, disgusted. She never sweated.

“Told you she wouldn’t do it!” crowed Artemis to Apollo triumphantly. If it was some sort of reverse psychology tactic, Aphrodite wasn’t falling for it. (Though she doubted it was, seeing as the moon goddess didn’t really enjoy her company in the first place.)

Zeus glanced down at Aphrodite’s feet. “Maybe if you’d worn the proper shoes for hiking, this wouldn’t be an issue,” he commented, and she shot him a scowl. She was wearing brown suede ankle boots that looked great with her blue floral crop top and skirt set, but were obviously very impractical for making such a trek. She’d likely stumble on the rock path and take a terrible tumble, and she shuddered at the thought.

Being the eager hero he was, Ares turned around and announced, “I’ll carry you the whole way, babe!” at which she perked up at the offer before Hera shut it down.

“No! There’s too much of a risk for becoming unbalanced and falling,” she objected, and while Aphrodite wanted to frown at her too, she couldn’t deny that the queen was right.

Athena, annoyed at how Aphrodite’s obstinance was holding up the group, started the descent and called back to everyone else, “oh just leave her be! If she wants to stay, then let her. She’ll just complain the whole time anyways if we make her come, and then we’ll all want to throw ourselves off the trail.” This earned the goddess a few odd glances from the surrounding strangers who were also making the hike, but she paid them no mind.

The rest of the Olympians exchanged glances, shrugged, and lined up to go, deciding that Athena was probably right.

“Don’t wander too far,” Hestia said gently to the love goddess as she waited on the side so the others hit the trail first. She was selfless like that. “We want to find you when we get back.”

Aphrodite smiled a little at her words. At least someone cared about her. The smile was wiped off her face when Hermes, the bastard who responsible for the trip, said jokingly, “have fun being alone up here!” and nudged Dionysus for a sip from the wine god’s water bottle, which probably did not contain water in it.

Before she could say anything in her own defense, another voice piped up.

“She won’t be alone. I’m not going either.”

She whipped around to see who was nice enough to keep her company, and then automatically sighed a little at the result, disappointed.

It was Hephaestus.

She took (what she hoped was) a subtle once-over of him, noting that for once he wasn’t suited up in soot-stained clothes, and before she could stop her thoughts, she admitted to herself that he actually looked half-decent all cleaned up. She thought he might’ve even trimmed his beard a little, but she couldn’t be sure because she didn’t see him often enough to know, and she couldn’t keep staring without giving away the state of her secret interest.

In truth, the two had actually, surprisingly, been getting along lately better than usual, which wasn’t very hard to do, seeing that in the past their “relationship” had never been much more than passing glances and short, curt words, but their recent interactions had always been on Aphrodite’s terms. She didn’t feel out of place when visiting him in his forge, and she hadn’t felt irritated when they’d once made popcorn together on family movie night. Now, however, she was already in a grouchy mood, so the last thing she wanted to do was hang out with her husband. Anyways, if she felt stuck with him, he probably didn’t want to be around her just as much, and there was nothing Aphrodite hated more than feeling undesired.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she snapped, and it came out more harshly than she intended. She half expected him to look a little hurt, but all the god did was shrug, turn away, and start walking in the other direction. That’s when Aphrodite realized she was utterly alone. There were people milling about everywhere, sure, but she had nobody to talk to, had no real clue as to where she was other than the not-so-Grand Canyon, and wasn’t sure how long it would be until the others returned.

After a moment of indecisiveness, she started an awkward gait between a brisk walk and a trot to catch up with her husband. The heels on her boots made a satisfactory click-clacking sound. “Wait up!” she called out, and was relieved to see that he didn’t ignore her and stopped so she could reach him. “Where-” she panted, a little embarrassed to be out of breath. It was just so goddamn hot out. “Where are you going?”

She squinted against the sun to look up at him — gods was he tall — and he shrugged again. “I don’t know,” came the plain-spoken response. “I was just going to take a stroll, I guess.”

“In this heat!?” she asked, sounding incredulous. Then she remembered who he was and blushed. “Of course you don’t mind the heat. You’re the god of the fucking forge.” She muttered the last part as to not attract bewildered looks, but she knew he heard her all the same because he let out a low chuckle, and she wasn’t sure what surprised her about the sound more: the fact that it could be emitted from this serious man, or how it left a warm, fluttery feeling in her stomach.

He made a waving motion, said, “c’mon, let’s get you out of the sun,” and proceeded to stride through the sea of people with surprising confidence. She followed him like a lost puppy down the street and an additional three blocks, and just when she was about to complain about her feet hurting or the temperature again, he stopped.

“We’re here,” he said, and she looked up to see a small, white, two-story building cutely decorated with blue scalloped trim and baskets of flowers under the windowsills. It had such a cute house-like exterior that stood out among the surrounding plain stores that she almost missed the sign sprawled in large, wooden, blue-painted cursive letters over the door: BRIGHT ANGEL CREAMERY.

He’d taken her to an ice cream parlor, she realized, and she felt pleasant surprise make itself known when a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She had to admit that without him, she never would have found this place, and just when she was about to ask how he’d known the way, he cut her off wordlessly by opening the door for her, the jingle of the bells above announcing their arrival.

The air conditioning was more of a relief to Aphrodite than she thought it could be, the coldness immediately cooling her skin. The room was packed full, and due to its popularity, the wait for the frozen treat took form of a mass of people rather than a coherent line, but Aphrodite didn’t care. She was just glad to get out of the dusty, humid Arizona outdoors.

“Thanks for staying up on earth’s surface for me,” she blurted out as a wave of gratefulness for his companionship and remorse for her snappy comment from not even fifteen minutes ago washed over her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

She saw him quickly glance down at her, a startled expression overcoming him before he awkwardly cleared his throat. “Oh, well, um-” A pause. “I didn’t. I mean I didn’t stay here for you. I sure as hell wasn’t trekking down miles of inclined rock in my condition.” He gestured vaguely, not enough to draw attention, but enough to get the point across, to his bad leg. “Too risky, you know?”

Oh. Aphrodite suddenly felt so stupid and vain for assuming he’d only held back from the others to keep her company, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Of course he had his own very valid reason to do what he did; what had possessed her to think she was the center of his attention, especially when what little of their relationship they had was still so fragile?

A twinge of disappointment took root somewhere deep inside too, and she grabbed its growing stem and yanked when the thought of, “well, did you want him to want you?” blossomed in her mind. She turned her concentration to not being shoved around by the crowd.

As they neared the front of the throng of people, she cautiously took her hat off to let her the top of her head breathe, and it was as if she’d waved a magic wand. Two people glanced her way and didn’t stop looking. Another girl caught her eye and nudged her friend, whispering, “look at that girl, she’s so pretty.” Another man overheard the not-so-quiet whisper and followed the teen’s stares.

And suddenly it was as if the whole store was gawking at her. Mothers with their children, pairs and trios of friends, middle aged men, couples, a group of elementary school girls in matching uniforms — Girl Scouts? — everyone, including the employees behind the frosted glass counters and maybe even the service dog by the window, was eying her up and down.

Aphrodite tugged on her top and skirt in opposite directions in attempt to cover her stomach, suddenly self-conscious about how much skin was exposed there, but then stopped when she realized it made her look like she was trying to shorten her skirt and show off her cleavage.

Maybe it was an exaggeration for Aphrodite to say that every pair of eyes in the room were fixated on her, but it sure felt like it. She felt uneasy with the onslaught of attention. As the goddess of beauty, she knew she was the most gorgeous woman to ever exist, and she usually lavished in the adoration, but lately she was becoming more and more uncomfortable with unsolicited, blatant stares and whispers from mortals and immortals alike, even if they were all positive. She’d always been fine with the fact that she appeared differently to each person because beauty was subjective, so when she’d began to feel a sense of loss of self-identity due to the varying perceptions a few years back, she’d chastised herself and pushed the concern away.

But ignoring her feelings hadn’t lessened their reality. Her anxiety about her looks had become so bad at one point that she’d done a little bit of research to see if she could reason why she was feeling so betrayed by herself, and come across something called “body dysmorphia”, which wasn’t exactly the answer, but it was the closest explanation she could find as to why she suddenly hated being perceived as a million different people. As to why she felt like she didn’t know what she actually liked like. It left her feeling more confused than ever.

Deep down she sometimes secretly, guiltily wished she just looked the same way to everyone. But it wasn’t possible, and worse than that, she didn’t exactly have anyone to express her feelings to. Nobody took her personal issues seriously because they weren’t seen as actual problems, and there were times Aphrodite wondered if anyone in the Olympian family saw her as more than a ditzy, conceited airhead.

She skimmed the room, questions flooding her head as to how the lady by the bathrooms saw her versus how teenaged boy across the room did. Did she have brown hair? Frizzy curly hair? Big boobs? Tan skin? Or freckled cheeks? Were her legs sturdy or slim to majority of the onlookers? What about her arms? It wasn’t so much that she had anything against any particular possible feature, because she didn’t, but more so the fact that it made her doubt the validity of how she saw herself. She felt like an imposter in her own skin. She felt like a freak on display.

She had to get out of there.

Bowing her head down to help hide her panic, Aphrodite elbowed, wedged, and “excuse me”d her way through the crowd as quickly as possible. It felt like it took eons to reach the door, and her imagination told her that the number of bodies in the store had somehow multiplied, making her claustrophobic.

By the time she was outside, she was breathing hard and hadn’t even noticed the change in temperature from indoors to outdoors. She scuttled to the side of the building where the parlor’s shadow provided some relief and glanced around, unsure of what to do next, when the bells chimed once more and echoing them was the soft thunk of the shop’s door shutting.

“Aphrodite?”

The goddess froze. In her panic and haste she’d forgotten all about Hephaestus, realizing she’d completely abandoned him in there without any explanation as to why.

Heavy footsteps announced his rounding of the corner. “Aphrodi-” He stopped short when he saw her, and for a second her distress felt nonexistent because the look on his face distracted her. He seemed concerned. Like, really concerned. His eyebrows were pressed together in confusion, worry lines etched onto his forehead. A frown of discontentment appeared at the sight of her agitated state, and those eyes.

Aphrodite glanced down at the ground so she didn’t have to look at those anxious brown eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, maybe more softly than she’d ever heard him. He took a hesitant step towards her, treating her like an animal that might spook, but she decided it was justified since her posture was rigid and her breathing was labored. She tried to relax. “You okay? What…what happened in there?”

She opened her mouth but the words refused to came out, stubborn and satisfied to stay stuck in her throat. How the hell was she supposed to explain that she hadn’t liked all those eyes on her? She’d sound like she was lying. Besides, this wasn’t his problem. She could fight her own battles, right? Maybe if she ignored him long enough he’d walk away and spare himself the regret of asking her to open up, but when she snuck a peek at him, he was still standing there patiently, willing to hear her out.

Her defenses were quickly crumbling. She’d kept her secret insecurity hidden for so long it was practically begging to be voiced. Oh what the hell, she decided, giving up the fight. It’s just Hephaestus. He’s probably not going to care one way or the other.

“I just um-,” she finally managed, and to her horror, tears were quickly welling up in her eyes, betraying her promise to herself that she’d keep herself calm and collected. She wiped at her face hurriedly. What the hell was it about this man that made her so damn vulnerable? “I just hate how nobody sees me as I see me.” There. She’d said it. She held her breath, anticipating yet simultaneously dreading the response. Would he laugh? Stare in disbelief? 

“It’s so stupid,” she blurted out apologetically. Here he was, just trying to take her to get ice cream, and she’d paid him back with a rant of her trivial worries. He probably thought even less of her her now than he already did.

“No, it’s not,” Hephaestus immediately objected.

Aphrodite rolled her eyes and sniffled, though thankful he was being so nice. “You don’t have to say that, Heph. I know it’s shallow and I should get over it. I’m the goddess of beauty after all.”

“That doesn’t mean your feelings about your looks are invalid. It just means they’re new and that you might have to work a little harder than most people to figure them out.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and coughed a little to clear her throat. “Since when did you become a therapist?”

He shot her a quick half-smile and shook his head. “If I was a therapist, my patients would need therapy for therapy. But maybe talking about yourself some more might help. Tell me, only if you want to of course…how do you see yourself?”

Two things dawned on Aphrodite at his query: In the thousands of years she’d existed, she’d only been asked a handful of times about how she perceived herself, but the real shocker was that this whole time she and he had been married, never had she asked him how he saw her.

She had absolutely no idea how her own husband viewed her hair, nose, or body type…. She knew that Apollo imagined her skin a flawless dark brown, that to Zeus she looked similar to Hera, that in Hermes’ case she had hair as black as the midnight sky. She was aware of the petite stature she took on in Artemis’ eyes, or the warrior-like one in Athena’s. Her eyes were green and hazel and grey to Hades, Hestia, and Dionysus, respectfully, but to Hephaestus? No clue.

This really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. She’d never cared about his opinion on anything because up until a few months ago she hadn’t really cared about him one way or another, but now that she thought about it, it was kind of ridiculous that she was in the dark about her looks when it came to her own spouse. Part of her was terrified to ask, because looking back, she hadn’t been the nicest to him, so who would blame him if his vision of her was something she hated? It would only be fair, right?

The other part of her was stronger, though, and demanded an answer to satiate her curiosity.

“How do you see me?”

Hephaestus blinked at her, his eyes widening slightly as if caught like a deer in the headlights. He hadn’t expected her to ignore his question and pose her own. His face reddened, and he became — did she dare say it? — adorably flustered. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at her face and then away again multiple times as he stumbled through his answer.

“Well, uh-” he stammered. “Your face is shaped like-” He took his two pointer fingers and created an oval-like heart motion around his own head. “And your nose is like…” He drew a slant straight down over his bumpy nasal passage. “…it sorta curves up at the end? And your eyebrows are a kinda flat…but it’s not bad!” he quickly tacked on. “They…arch a little.” Tracing over his eyebrows was a poor visual demonstration of what he meant, but Aphrodite appreciated the wholehearted effort, and it had her biting her lip from giggling at the imagery of her husband with any eyebrows that weren’t his own thick, unshaped bushy ones.

“And you’re tall!” Hephaestus said, as if he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to mention it in the first place. Pointing to the top of his shoulder, it took Aphrodite a moment to realize that he meant she came up to there on him, and this time she let a giggle out. That was her height in her mind, too.

“What about my hair?” she asked. The nervousness was wearing off and was replaced by unexpected shyness.

“Your hair?” The forge god got a faraway look on his face that Aphrodite tried and failed to decipher. “Your hair is brown, dark at night when there’s not much light, but a warm chocolate color in the sun like today.” He motioned to his rib age area. “It’s about that long….longer when you straighten it.” He paused, as if deciding to move forward.

“And your eyes are blue-”

Aphrodite beamed. She loved it when people said her eyes were blue.

“-blue as the Cretan sea, and alive and bright as it was that one specific summer, too. You know the one?”

Well. She hadn’t expected him to go into such detail, but she nodded because she did know the year he was talking about. The sea had been gorgeous that whole season, shimmering like diamonds had kissed its surface, and vibrant and so refreshingly inviting that the Olympians had spent enough time in the water to cause Poseidon to kick them out periodically so the fish could enjoy their natural habitat in peace.

That was what Hephaestus thought about when he looked in her eyes? It made her breath hitch a little.

“You have pretty, tan skin too,” Hephaestus murmured, looking away and blushing again. He seemed embarrassed to be commenting on her skin, as if it was forbidden for him to acknowledge he’d ever looked at it. “But you knew that already,” he said, correcting himself. “And you have a little beauty mark right here.” He pointed to a spot on his collarbone, and that’s when the ground fell out from underneath Aphrodite’s feet.

Not actually, of course, but it was all the same when her stomach flip-flopped happily with realization: he saw her exactly as she saw herself. She had never fathomed it was possible for anyone to do so. Tears welled anew in her eyes, and when she tried to blink them away, they fell onto her cheeks and then down to her chin. Her lip quivered, and she had to sniff aggressively to keep her nose from running.

Horrified at her sudden turn of emotions, the god began to apologize profusely. “I- I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Was that not right? I promise you look great. Amazing, even. Better than anyone in the world. If you want me to think of you with blonde hair or brown eyes, I can try-”

She launched herself into his arms, not caring that it was 100 degrees out, and clung tight as if her life depended on it, resting her cheek on the spot beneath his shoulder where he’d said she reached. She heard him intake a sharp breath of shock, frozen paralyzed until he hesitantly wrapped an arm around her mid-back in return, awkwardly patting her side as she sniveled. Some passerbys gave her a strange look, but for once she didn’t care.

After she calmed down, she pulled away, took a calming deep breath, and reassured him he hadn’t said anything wrong. “I just really wish I could physically immortalize the way you and I see me,” she said sadly, heart hammering in her chest. It felt like a confession, telling the man she’d fought so hard her whole life to hate that she found comfort in him, but it was hard to feel miserable when he smiled with kindness at her like that.

“I’ll see what I can do about that,” he said cryptically. It was her turn to be confused, but then she got distracted when saw the wet mess she’d left on his shoulder. She frowned.

“Oh no,” she said, dismayed, pointing to it. “Look what at what I did to your shirt.”

He glanced down and shrugged. “Oh, that? Hey, don’t worry about it.” She didn’t look convinced, so he added on jokingly, “I mean, what else are husbands for if not to be human napkins?”

Aphrodite barked out a watery laugh, surprised at his slight self-deprecating jab for her happiness’ expense, and wiped her eyes. When he nodded his head at the building and asked if she still wanted to get ice cream, she almost said no. How could she go back in there after acting crazy and shoving past everyone? But then she thought about it: it was still disgustingly hot out, and so what if she had a little meltdown? She was more than her tears, and stronger than the insecurity that had plagued her for much too long. No, she’d march back in there with her head held high and ignore the stares.

She led the way this time, thankful that the majority of the previous people who had been inside had already gotten their food and left. When the whispers and stares started up from the new batch of strangers, she caught Hephaestus shooting them unwavering, displeased glances right back until they looked away, and her heart sped up at how protective he was being. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his hand and immediately felt better when connected with the one person who shared her vision of herself in the multitude of people who didn’t. She felt grounded and oddly safe. Out of the corner of her periphery she saw him do a double take at their hands but thankfully didn’t refuse her grasp. Maybe her imagination was playing tricks on her again, but she swore he ran the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand.

“What can I getcha two?” the grey haired lady smiled at the pair from behind the tops of her red cat-eye glasses, and Aphrodite liked her immediately. The goddess glanced at Hephaestus, feeling very indebted for his kindness and reluctant to ask for anything.

“Can I…can I get two scoops of the Java chip flavor?”

He looked down at her, and when he boldly tipped the brim of her hat up so he could see her, he had a lighthearted sparkle in his eyes. “You can get whatever you want.”

And after their ice cream was long gone, it wasn’t until they made their way back to the canyon area that Aphrodite noticed their hands were still clasped together. She smirked and maneuvered hers stealthily until their fingers were intertwined.

A couple days later, Aphrodite had just stepped out of the shower when her phone chimed. She peeked at the screen and was surprised to find that her husband had texted her. They close to rarely communicated by phone. She couldn’t even remember changing his contact number to his name. Since the time they’d gotten back to Olympus, he and she hadn’t talked, which she found herself surprisingly a little disappointed about, but had shrugged it off. She was busy; he was busy. It shouldn’t have bothered her. They’d had a nice, small moment of civility, and now their level of interaction was back to normal.

She kind of wished “normal” wasn’t what it was.

With embarrassing quickness she unlocked her phone and read the message:

Come down to my forge sometime soon? I have something for you.

Plain and to the point, just like him. Her curiosity skyrocketed at the unexpected invitation, and she chewed her lip. She loved gifts, especially surprise ones, and Hephaestus, albeit not known for his social popularity, was one of the best gift-givers. Would it look too desperate if she said she could meet him now? She looked in the mirror that was starting to unfog from the shower condensation and ran a finger along the side of her flawless skin, a smile blooming at the memory of how Hephaestus had tried to outline her face, and finally admitted to herself that even after only a brief encounter with him, that yes, she really did miss his company. And it wasn’t just because he boosted her ego. He helped her find some of the confidence she needed to start believing in her identity again.

Can I come now?

She typed out, and nearly dropped her phone as if it had burned her when the response came back more quickly than expected.

Yes

She fumbled giddily with what to wear before settling on a plain but mildly pretty lavender chiffon dress. With a wave of her hand, her hair was dry and she began her trip to the hottest place on Olympus.

Upon arrival, she didn’t immediately see him.

“Hephaestus?” she called out, hoping she was loud enough to be heard over the roar of the fire, and glanced around and took in the piles of scrap metal, the buckets of molten gold and nails, the myriad of varying tools scattered about. Although it seemed chaotic and disorganized in the steaming, sooty forge, there was an underlying purpose to the disarray, as if all the chaos and wayward pieces were necessary in order for the beauty of his craftsmanship to exist. If she was honest, it would have unnerved her if the place was spotless.

Perhaps she was beginning to be able to see the beauty in the whole his domain — not just the pretty, sought-after outcomes — like he had been able to see beauty of her true self.

Out from behind what could pass as a bookcase without shelves the god made himself known. He was back in his usual attire, overalls and soiled rag in hand and all, and she smiled faintly at the sight, eying his muscled arms and then blushing.

No way have those always been like that, she tried to convince herself.

“Come,” he commanded, though not unkindly. She scurried after him into his gardens, which wasn’t much to look at, but was a nice area away from the darkness of the forge nonetheless. He halted in front of a large object covered in a white sheet that towered over both of them. Whatever it was, it was making the cloth to take on an odd, nonuniform shape, and was that a foot she saw peeking out from underneath the four-foot tall pedestal it stood on?

Hephaestus pinched a part of the fabric and held it out a ways. When Aphrodite didn’t move, waiting for the reveal, he shook it a tad. “Here, you unveil it,” he urged.

She accepted the offer eagerly, and with more force than she expected she had to exert, yanked the white barrier away.

At first she didn’t understand what she was looking at. It was a statue made out of white marble, and at eye level all she could see was what looked like stone etched out to create folds like those found in cloth. Then she looked up and her mouth fell open without her permission.

It was her. It was really, truly, undoubtedly her.

Marble Aphrodite looked majestic, staring straight forward with perfect posture, one arm bent at the waist with a marble dove, one of her sacred animals, perched on it. Though made out of the hardest stones, her face appeared deceivingly soft to the touch, and her hair looked as if it might start moving if even the slightest wind picked up. A stone wreath of dainty daisies crowned her head. A necklace as realistic as the jewelry in Aphrodite’s jewelry box adorned the space between her collarbone and breasts. Her nose and eyes and jaw were sculpted how Aphrodite imagined her own nose and eyes and jaw, and a knot rose in her throat at the realization that if Hephaestus hadn’t had a picture of her for reference, which she doubted he did, that meant he’d created this from memory.

Sure, she’d been around for a couple thousand years, and sure, she didn’t have a face very easy to forget in the first place, but the likeliness was nothing less than perfection, and oh- here came the tears again.

Especially when Aphrodite saw the expression he’d made her statue have. She was smiling. It wasn’t a wide, flashy smile. It wasn’t as subtle as the Mona Lisa’s smile either. It was a nice in-between: a soft, welcoming smile that made her look kind and inviting and loving. All the other statues of her throughout history — the Venus de Milo, the Aphrodite of Knidos, and countless others that could’ve been found in her old temples — she loved because they were works of art dedicated in her name, but they’d all been missing complete accuracy, and certainly hadn’t depicted her as happy.

“I-” she managed to choke out. She stroked the marble, never wanting to stop gazing at it. At her. Gods, did she feel conceited in that moment, but it had been such a long time since she’d had a new statue of herself.

“Sorry it’s a little rough,” a voice broke her thoughts from behind her.

She stared at Hephaestus, who looked a little sheepish.

“I haven’t busted out the marble-carving tools in about thirty years, so they were a little rusty, and sculpting isn’t my main strong suit…but you said you wanted a way for people to see you as you are, and I…I just hope you like it.” He chewed on his lip and nervously awaited her response. Her eyes grew wide. The gift was beyond perfect. Why was he always selling himself short when it came to her? With a stab of guilt she realized she knew right away why: he’d never been enough in her eyes right from the start, and she’d made it known. Loudly. Though they were on better terms now, he probably thought she thought this gift was a way to win her over when in reality they both knew it was just a very nice gesture from his heart.

When she hugged him for the second time in a week, it was beginning to feel more natural being so close, but this time a hug wasn’t enough. He’d barely had time to fold his arms around her after his recurring shock at being embraced by his wife, when she kissed him.

It was more swift than lingering, but it was definite and as real as her living, breathing self. She had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him, and found his lips to be rough — definitely could use some chapstick — but they were warm and inviting and her stomach fluttered at how delightfully wonderful it felt to kiss her husband.

When it was over, he looked dumbfounded, but not displeased in the least, and Aphrodite giggled.

“I’m gonna put it in my garden for everyone who comes to visits me to see!” she exclaimed, and she could tell his brain was catching up to realize she was talking about the sculpture.

“Do you wanna know a secret?” She bounced from foot to foot. She’d never told anyone this before.

He nodded, still at a loss for words.

“You know how I turned Pygmalion’s statue into a real girl he could love?”

“Uh- yeah…yeah!”

It was so funny how floored he’d been from such a small kiss. She wondered what he’d be like if she had kissed him for any longer. He’d probably have fainted.

“Well, I did it cause it was cute and all, how in love he seemed and how devoted to me he was, sure-” She took a step closer to Hephaestus and smiled shyly. “But he really won me over because his passion for crafting reminded me a lot of you. And now you’ve reminded me of who I am. So thank you. Really.”

And from that day on, Aphrodite kept true to her word and asked every visitor she had if they saw the statue before coming in, and if they hadn’t, she demanded that they go back out and take a look.

“It’s me! My husband made it!” she’d explain gleefully, and with each entity that came to understand her looks the way she loved herself best, she was slowly learning how to become more secure in her self-identity. Even after centuries of existing, she found that she still had more to discover about herself.

She liked that.