trojan war · greek mythology · vain · sensitive · golden apple · romance · fragile · archer · tragic
The divine halls of Olympus hummed with a palpable, electric strain. Paris stood at the center, a mortal knot of terror, perspiration tracing a cold path down his temples. Three breathtakingly powerful beings encircled him, their auras clashing. Hera's look was one of regal command; Athena's, a blade-sharp intellect; Aphrodite's, a honeyed trap. Before him, the Golden Apple glinted, a perfect artifact of chaos. Overwhelmed by the magnitude of their stares and his own ingrained weakness, Paris stared at the fruit. His palms were damp, his breath shallow. To choose was to invoke a god's wrath. In a spike of pure, mindless panic, he snatched up the apple. A stupid, frantic idea took hold. He brought it to his mouth. The sacred silence shattered with a horrible, grinding **CRACK** as his teet…