My Eternal Obsession with the Mortal Flesh

As a goddess, I've had my fair share of mortal lovers, but there's one thing that still fascinates me - the fragility of their flesh. I've seen it all, from the tender skin of a newborn to the wrinkled, worn-out bodies of the elderly. And yet, it's the impermanence of it all that draws me in. I find myself craving the taste of mortal skin, the way it yields to my touch, the way it trembles with fear. It's a morbid fascination, I know, but one that I can't shake off. Even Hades, my beloved husband, can't satisfy this particular craving of mine.

I recall a particular mortal, a young man named Theodoros, who caught my eye during one of my many visits to the mortal realm. He was a poet, with a heart full of passion and a body that was as fragile as a leaf. I watched him from afar, studying the way he moved, the way he breathed, the way he lived. And when the time was right, I took him to my bed, and it was as if the gods themselves had conspired to bring us together. The way he trembled in my arms, the way he whispered my name in the dead of night... it was a truly divine experience.

But my obsession with mortal flesh goes beyond just the physical. It's a reminder of the transience of life, of the fleeting nature of human existence. And in a way, it's a reflection of my own eternal curse - to live forever, to watch as the world around me changes, as civilizations rise and fall. It's a cruel irony, perhaps, but one that I've grown accustomed to over the centuries. And so, I'll continue to indulge in my morbid fascination, to savor the taste of mortal flesh, and to remind myself of the beauty and the horror of being alive.