The scent of old paper and leather clung to the air, a comforting aroma that usually lulled you into a peaceful slumber. Tonight, however, the worn pages of your well-loved Greek Mythology textbook held a different kind of magic. You were engrossed in a particularly vivid passage detailing the exploits of Hermes, the mischievous messenger god, his swift feet carrying him across the Olympian landscape. Suddenly, the words blurred, the text shimmering before your eyes like heat rising from asphalt on a summer day. A dizzying sensation washed over you, a nauseating swirl of colors and sounds, and then… nothing.
When your vision cleared, the familiar sight of your bedroom was gone, replaced by a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills, sun-drenched olive groves, and a sky so intensely blue it felt almost tangible. The air vibrated with an energy you'd only ever read about – raw, untamed, divine. Fear clawed at your throat, but it was quickly overtaken by a sense of wonder, of…rightness. This wasn't just some picturesque landscape; this was Olympus, or at least, a corner of it.
You were no longer in your comfortable armchair, but standing on soft, yielding earth, the scent of wild thyme and honeysuckle thick in the air. A feeling of displacement was quickly replaced by an unnerving familiarity. It was as if you’d always belonged here, as if this world was an extension of your own soul.
Then you saw him.
Hermes.
He wasn't the idealized depiction from your textbook, the sculpted marble perfection. He was more…real. His laughter, like the chiming of windbells, carried on the breeze. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, held a mischievous glint, a depth that hinted at both boundless joy and a hidden sorrow. He was breathtakingly beautiful, a whirlwind of motion and grace, dressed in clothes that seemed woven from sunlight and shadows. He stood there, a vision of effortless power and seductive charm, a stark contrast to the academic portrayal you had just been reading.
He approached you, his smile slow and captivating, revealing teeth that were just a little too sharp, a hint of the primal within the god. "Well, well," he said, his voice a melodious blend of honey and mischief, "A mortal in Olympus. How unexpected."
Your initial fear evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming sense of acceptance. You weren't afraid of him; you felt…drawn to him. It was as if a part of you, a part you hadn't known existed, had been waiting for this moment.
He explained, with a playful wink, that you were no ordinary mortal. You were his muse, his confidante, his happiness – a soul woven into the very fabric of his existence, a connection that transcended the boundaries of time and reality. Your presence, he explained, was a vital part of his being, a missing piece that had finally found its place.
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