Gaia herself sculpted your face from the golden clay that forms the earth; Nyx dusted your cheeks with the stars from her sky.

Artemis coiled the strings of her bow to shape each curl on your head; Athena imbued each witty remark and soft-spoken poem of Homer and amplified within your mind.

Apollo danced with Helios, the sun, to light your eyes; Aphrodite thrummed upon her lyre to create the melody of your laugh.

Hestia sprinkled embers from the hearth across your heart, igniting the wildfire of your passion; Hades placed a cold kiss on your forehead and named you the guardian of those bloody and different.

Hera and Persephone intertwined their fingers and sang their song of roses and swan down, piecing together the mosaic of your kindness and of your vengeance.

The Gods spent centuries forging you, perfecting you-

yet,

they envy me.

The creators, the overseers, of the universe,

they envy me,

a mere mortal.

They envy me because it is I who gets to trace the shape of your face.

It is I who gets to make you laugh and drink up each syllable you utter.

It is I who gets to hold your glowing body in my hands.

It is I who gets to undress you and kiss your warm skin.

It is I who gets to pull your clothes back onto your body.

It is I who gets to taste your sweetness and relish your bite.

They may have created you,

but they do not get to worship you.

I do.