"That can't be… I mean, she's…"
Hermes recalled the face of the little girl he used to play with. She has gentle, downturned eyes with light freckles sprinkled on her pale skin. She was tiny, even for girls her age.
She had always been a bookworm, perhaps due to the environment she grew up in. Her parents were studious and her mother was a meteorologist who liked studying the skies.
But she was less interested in the scholarly side of literature compared to the artistic side. She liked reading fiction and would sometimes write poetry about the beauty of the most irregular things, like a puddle she saw in the playground or the mandible of a stag beetle.
She was always sensitive to little things, especially people's emotions.
One time, after playing with some other kids in the neighborhood:
"I think the girls in school don't like me." Aphrodite said.
