He thought to hold her close, to stroke that soft
hair, to caress with gentle touch her smooth skin.
And within him, too, aroused the desires of a man. For though
her face was that of youth, her body was of sculptured beauty
that Venus might envy.
When Pluto beheld her all thoughts save one departed his mind.
This was to be his bride!
He tarried there, danced in parody of handsome prince, sang in
voice marred and croaking. She mocked him not; rather, smiled.
Of flowers garlands she made, given to him in innocent pride.
She sang sweet songs of light and sunshine, of crystal stars and
mellow moon, of flowers that did not die, with blossoms that
forever bloom.
He told her sad tales of a dark and lonesome realm, of those
for whom hope was no more, and of a keeper who sat in solitude
in mastery of that realm. A keeper who, more than all dwellers
therein, was prisoner of that realm.
From her eye, soft flowed a tear. From her hand, a gentle
touch. He thought not to ask for more.
They parted, though never long. Always his mighty steeds drove
through time and space, returning once more to that quiet
retreat. The love he felt for the innocent child grew ever
stronger. Still, he approached her, not in courtship, but as a
friend.
"Your arrow has flown true. It lacked the needed potency. He
loves her as does a brother. Once more loose your bow, and into
his heart drive desire, passion. And I shall open wide her eyes,
that she may see him as the monstrous form he is.
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