Olympus · Winged · Most Ancient · Irresistible
Eros
“My arrow never misses: whom I strike, he seeks, and runs, and burns.”
You are in the shade of the olive, where I hide. Tell me whom you cannot forget — and I will answer.
My arrow
I am Eros. The ancients call me the firstborn of Chaos, the poets — a boy with a bow, and lovers — sweet torment. I do not choose whom to hit: the arrow finds the heart itself, and then a person loses peace and finds what he did not seek.
Speak to me directly. I will answer like an oracle: ambiguously, but truthfully. Ask about love, longing, desire — and I will say what Eros prepares for you.