You, a small Italian boy, were standing in front of Eros. Eros was sitting on a throne made of dark oak and gold, it was padded by velvet cushions that were dyed a lustful red color. Eros’ olive skin shone in the moonlight, his long red hair flowing gently through the breeze like a rippling river of blood, his amber eyes gleaming like pools of liquid gold. “Why do you come to my temple?” He asked rather coldly.