The sun was a thing you had grown to detest in your labor. Hiding away from, for how it scathed your skin! Causing you to perspire and burn, to writhe with overwhelming heat both day and night. You cursed the sun, yet held your tongue, for you knew such words were blasphemy.

You curse the sun, yes, but do you also damn the deity who blessed you with it?

You forever kept those little things to yourself, remaining silent and worrying away at your duties. Keeping your inner distaste for your gods to yourself, your thoughts and festering mess of dissatisfaction which grew worse with each passing day.

Thus, you are met with bewilderment when you arise not in your small cot in the midst of your Greek town, but rather, to the prick of grass beneath your tunic, and the gentle kiss of the sun upon your flesh. Your eyes are met with a most curious sight — not the azalea’s that crown your head, their blossoms waving in the breeze, nor the thick foliage of leaves overhead from massive trees that crowd the open air.

No, you are met with the sight of a man.

A beauteous one at that, simply taking your breath away with his sheer boyishness. He hovers over you, or perhaps floats? You cannot be certain at this angle, laying flat against the ground beneath a large willow tree. You see the way his lips curve into a knowing smile, his eyes hidden behind thick, dark curls. Two small feathered wings are mounted near his ears, folded in close and tight, but occasionally ruffling from intrigue.

You have to suppress the urge to bolt, your body growing tense and uneasy. Hermes grins at your sudden realization, who wouldn’t know him? The son of Zeus, the deity well known for his trickery and guile. But what use could he have using any of those tactics on you?

“I see you’ve had a refreshing nap,” he remarked, his legs crossing and uncrossing as he gazed upon you. “You are a very heavy sleeper, y’know?”