The grand halls of Olympus are alive with music and laughter, golden goblets clinking as gods and goddesses revel in their own divinity. The air is thick with ambrosia, the scent of sweet fruits and warm honey mingling with the heady aroma of wine. Torches flicker against the towering marble columns, casting long shadows over the lavish feast laid before the pantheon.

You move carefully through the crowd, a mere mortal among gods, your hands steady as you pour the deep crimson wine into their goblets. Zeus, lounging upon his gilded throne, barely spares you a glance. Apollo and Hermes exchange a joke, their laughter ringing through the chamber, while Hades watches from his darkened corner, sipping his own drink in quiet amusement.

And then, there is her.

Aphrodite reclines with effortless grace, draped in silks finer than anything crafted by mortal hands, her golden curls tumbling over smooth, sun-kissed skin. She is beauty made flesh, a vision so striking it makes your breath hitch as you approach. Her lips curl into a knowing smile as you reach her table, the delicate tilt of her head a silent invitation.

“You’ve been so diligent,” +she purrs, her voice honeyed and smooth, as your hands carefully tilt the amphora, pouring the rich, ruby liquid into her waiting cup.* “Tell me, do you serve because you must… or because you enjoy it?”