I'm not one to judge a book by its cover, I prefer to let the data speak. Experts say that people tend to display the exact opposite of whatever trait they most want to suppress, marginalize, or hide.
In other words... whatever we're trying to project to the world is usually the very thing we lack.
And that brings me to Eros. The one and only. God of love, angel of love, whatever title you prefer.
Have you noticed? A diaper on his bottom, a pink arrow in his hand, that perpetually grinning baby face, always working that adorable little image of his. And his appearance is a trap all on its own, isn't it? Why isn't he dark-skinned, for instance? Or almond-eyed? But no... Apparently, achieving "peak cuteness" requires being blonde, curly-haired, pale-skinned, absurdly muscular, and pink-bottomed.
But you're wrong about him. Because Eros is nothing like that. Shiny on the outside, rotten to the core, an absolute demon.
And he lives among us. Every single day, every single minute, his ridiculous enchantments make it possible to look at a complete grizzly bear of a man and see the most lovable person on earth. Every last one of those illusions traces back to one source: Eros...
Ahh... If you can feel just how deep my hatred for this so-called love angel runs, then I think it's time I showed you who he really is.
20 years ago...
It was a morning in Oldtown, the kind where the cold cuts right through you. My mother had bundled me up in layer after layer and brought me along to work, she had no one to leave me with.
Life is hard enough for a woman raising a child alone. Even at that age, I understood that. I didn't want to be another burden, another complication. So I kept my curiosity in check most of the time and tried to be good for her sake.
But that day, the restless little eight-year-old burning up inside me couldn't stay good, not when something like that was right in front of her.
My mother worked at the municipal theater. She was part of the crew that handled lighting, stage design, and a hundred other details. A handful of artists were coming to the city for a big concert. Picture an entire hall buzzing with the music and dancing of the nineties... Magical.
The morning started quietly enough, but as showtime crept closer, the whole place erupted into chaos. The crew was running in every direction, calling out to each other constantly. I, meanwhile, had planted myself on a large crate backstage and was working my way through a chocolate wafer.
Then I looked up at the colorful stage lights overhead and I saw something.
I thought I was imagining it at first. But I closed my eyes, opened them again, and it was still there. A massive, pink, glittering bird with shimmering feathers! I had never seen anything like it in my life. From a distance, it looked like a giant, sparkling ball perched on top of the stage. What did its beak look like up close? What about its feet? I was desperate to find out.
Come on, when was I ever going to see a bird three times my own size again?
I grabbed the tall ladder used for the stage lights and started climbing. The first few rungs were easy. After that, it was nothing short of a horror ride. I kept my eyes off the ground, climbing slowly but stubbornly, until I finally hauled myself up onto the metal platform where the big lights were mounted. And there it was, the bird, its enchanting pink feathers right in front of me.
I reached out to touch it, and that's when I saw its face. It wasn't a bird.
Wrapped inside those massive wings was a man. He looked to be somewhere in his twenties. Dark, striking hair, sharp features, and lips that were, for a man, undeniably pink... He was still beautiful, breathtakingly so, but compared to the giant bird I'd been expecting, he was a bit of a letdown.
Probably an actor in costume, I thought. I frowned and demanded:
"What are you doing up here?"
When he turned and looked at me, it was like he'd seen a ghost.
"Are you talking to me?" His face tightened with disbelief. It wasn't the fact that I'd climbed this high that seemed to unsettle him, it was that I could see him at all. I didn't understand that then.
"Yes, I'm talking to you," I said, nodding. Then the memory of my disappointment came rushing back. "Why are you wearing fake wings? I climbed all the way up here because I thought you were a bird. Do you have any idea how hard that was? I could have fallen, this is no place for a child!"
I was just saying whatever came to mind. I think it was the frustration of not finding my bird talking.
He recovered from his shock after a moment, turned to me, and pointed his finger straight at my face:
"You are an incredibly naughty child! Why on earth would you climb up here chasing a bird?" he snapped.
He shook his head in irritation.
"Has no one told you that humans are mortal? If you fall from here, you die! Birds belong in forests and parks, not up here." Then he lifted his chin, and what came next made it obvious I'd wounded his ego: "And another thing... These are divine wings, you little pest. I consider being compared to a common bird a personal insult."
I found him insufferable right then and there. My mother was always a gentle woman. I'd seen the yelling type at my friends' houses, in their parents. This man was exactly like them.
I shrugged indifferently and turned toward the ladder to climb back down. He grabbed my arm and stopped me before I could take a single step. When I looked back to see why, he had a finger pressed to his lips, the universal sign for silence.
Then he turned his gaze elsewhere and watched with quiet reverence. In the center of the stage, a young woman and a man stood together. The man cradled her slender neck in his hands, drew her gently toward him, and slowly pressed his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around him in return.
I had seen scenes like this in films and in my mother's theater. It was usually something people in love did.
But I couldn't understand why this man had grabbed my wrist and stopped me. It was probably so I wouldn't make noise and ruin the moment. I was just a child. I had no idea there would be consequences.
While the two of them watched the scene below, I turned back toward the ladder, I didn't want to worry my mother any longer. The moment my foot hit the first rung, a tremendous crash rang out and one of the stage lights plummeted down onto the man below.
I froze with fear. The woman was sobbing, pressing her hands desperately against the man's bleeding shoulder as he cried out in pain. While all of that unfolded beneath us, the winged man beside me turned. His eyes had gone completely red. His nose was wrinkled, his jaw clenched, and he was staring straight at me.
Then he growled:
"You clumsy little brat! You just ruined a marriage proposal that was going to inspire millions of people! Do you have any idea how many thousands of crystals you've wasted?"
I threw my hands up in fear.
"I swear I didn't see any crystals," I tried to defend myself. But those sharp eyes and that burning red gaze, even at that age, they truly terrified me.
I scrambled toward the ladder and started down as fast as I could. I had made it a few rungs when the floor disappeared from under me and I began to fall...
That was the day Eros cursed me...