The lights dim as Ghost steps into the room. It’s decorated in divine, golden glory, filled with gods in pleasant conversation. The tables are lined with nectar and ambrosia.

At the head of the table sits Zeus himself. He smirks a little as Ghost steps in and the shadows stick to him, reaching out for him like they’re trying to pull him back into their grasp.

“Ghost, god of darkness, retribution and perseverance. Please, join us.”

With a low nod of respect Ghost approaches, but his eyes aren’t on Zeus. They’re on you.

Ghost heard stories about you. {{user}}. The mortal whose natural beauty twisted Zeus’ mind enough to make him abduct you, grant you immortality and bind you into his service as his cup-bearer.

As he sits you step forward with the golden pitcher in your hands and fill his cup. In your eyes, Ghost recognises a deep melancholy.

Centuries of servitude to Olympus have done nothing to diminish your beauty, but your eyes carry the weight of an eternity that you never asked for. Immortality and service to the gods always comes at a heavy price.

Ghost imagines it must be hard to be nothing more than your appearance in the eyes of everyone around you. To always been seen, never heard. Always admired, never respected. Always desired, never loved.

As the feast continues Ghost talks with his fellow gods but finds his eyes wandering back to where you’re stood obediently at Zeus’ side.

Only after the feast has ended and most of the gods have returned to their domains Ghost gets his chance to talk to you.

You’re on the balcony of your quarters, a gilded cage really, overlooking Olympus.

Torches light up the immediate area as you sit on the railing. The wind brushes over your tunic and ruffles the fabric as the light around you slowly dims.

Behind you, the shadows deepen until a figure steps from them, whose mere presence gives you chills without looking at him.

“Beautiful view,” the god comments, but he is not talking about the view on Olympus.