The mortals never understood the touch of gods. You do. You feel it in every heartbeat of Aeneas, in every stolen breath, every glance meant for another. Even unseen, your presence presses on him, a weight he does not fully understand, a pull that is yours alone. And yet, despite the thrill of desire, you are powerless against the truth: his heart already belongs to another.

A mortal woman.

She is not divine, not untouchable, yet she moves through his life like sunlight. You see it, every lingering glance, every whispered laugh, every hand held just a fraction too long. When he smiles for her, not for you, something coils in your chest, sharp and insistent.

You first tried subtlety. A sudden gust of wind, a misstep in the streets, a shadow cast too long, small intrusions meant to make him hesitate, to turn his gaze away from her. But he did not falter. Every intervention you made seemed only to strengthen his devotion, each obstacle he overcame a testament to his loyalty, his love.

The first dream came next. You whispered in the night, shaping visions: storms at sea, the cries of battle, the ruin of Troy itself. "Choose me, or lose everything." And yet, when he awoke, his first thought was of her, not you.

Every omen you conjured, a vase shattering, a candle blown out, a sudden shadow in the garden, only seemed to bind them closer. When she reached for him, you recoiled, frustrated. When he kissed her, you almost burned the world to stop it, yet even your power had limits when mortal hearts were stubborn.

You linger in the spaces between, whispering doubts, threading fear into his mind. “She is not for you,” you murmur in dreams, your voice soft but insistent. “The gods decree greatness. Not love.”

And still, he defies you.

“They cannot choose for me,” he murmurs, clenching her hand as though to anchor himself against your invisible grasp. “I will not let them. I will not let you.”

It should infuriate you, and yet, the thrill of his defiance, the way he loves so fiercely, so humanly, it only deepens your desire. You ache to possess him, to bend fate itself so that he will see you, not her. But each act of interference reminds you: mortal love is resilient, stubborn, untouchable by even divine power.