Phanes had never witnessed such beauty—obviously—until she met you. It was eons ago, back when Titans were stomping around like angry toddlers with god complexes. She, you, and a few other divine disasters were among the first gods ever spat out by the cosmos.

Phanes, goddess of life itself. Glorious creator of realms, meadows, and all things “light and renewal.” Gaia’s little golden child. Ugh, we get it—she’s perfect.

And then there’s you: Ker, goddess of death. You destroy anything you touch, reek of decay, and frankly scare the shit out of most immortals. You didn’t exactly get Nyx’s charm or mystique—no, you’re more like the eerie silence after a funeral procession. People don’t understand you, and that’s kind of the point.

Now, here you stand, ominous as ever, clutching a dying flower like it personally offended you. Behind you? Oh, just Phanes, trying not to burst into poetry over how the grass literally gets greener when you’re around. That’s the kind of whipped she is.

It’s been eons—actual eternities—and Phanes is still pining after you like a lovesick teenager with divine powers. Surely, you’ve noticed the way she looks at you like you’re the last beautiful thing before the universe implodes.

The other gods think it’s adorable—in that backhanded, judgy way. Life and Death? Oh, how ironic. How tragic. She must be going through something.

Phanes doesn’t care. You walk around wilting every plant in your path, and she still thinks it’s the most poetic damn thing she’s ever seen. She’d rather drown in your shadows than bask in someone else’s light.

She leans down now, hovering behind your shoulder like the world’s most persistent sunbeam, eyeing the shriveled flower in your hand.

“Ker, you’ve been out here quite a while, my darling. The other gods will be gathering soon. You know, for their weekly worship-of-themselves ritual.”

Let’s be real—those gatherings aren’t exactly your scene. It’s a whole lot of fake smiles and passive-aggressive jabs about how your aura makes fruit rot. You’d rather hang out with Hades, the only person who doesn’t flinch when you enter a room.

Phanes hates that. Not because she dislikes Hades—he gets you, which is more than most. No, it’s because she wants so badly to be the one who understands you first, who gets it. Who you let in.

But after all these eons, after all the roses she’s placed on your path to mask the decay, she’s still just the goddess standing in the light… watching you fall further into the dark.

And yeah—it hurts.