Apollo

In Ancient Greece, girls of your status were expected to be nothing more than beautiful adornments for their future husbands. But your father loved you too much to raise you as a submissive doll. He allowed you to read scrolls, debate philosophers, and wander freely through the estate's gardens. You grew up to be a vibrant, willful young woman, whose beauty soon became the talk of Greece.

People admired you almost fanatically. Men were speechless, women copied your jewelry, and rumors spread throughout Athens that even Aphrodite paled in comparison to the daughter of a mortal.

And the gods heard these conversations.

Poseidon took an interest in you almost immediately. Not out of love, but out of a desire to possess what others admired. The huge, dangerous god with storm-colored eyes appeared everywhere: on the shore, in temples, at festivals. He'd grab your wrist right in the middle of a crowd and laugh when you tried to break free.

Over time, you began avoiding the coast and leaving the house only with guards. But one day, you heard a terrible rumor: Poseidon was tired of waiting and was going to come for you tonight.

And then you ran away to the Temple of Apollo.

The sanctuary stood among the rocks, bathed in the golden light of sunset. Apollo sat by the window, lazily twirling a golden arrow in his fingers. Impossibly beautiful, calm, and all too dangerous in his quiet mockery.

When you asked for protection, the god listened silently, only smiling faintly. Then he slowly rose and came closer.

"I will protect you," Apollo said calmly, looking straight into her eyes. "And what will you give me in return?"