Erian couldn't understand how something so small could hurt so much.
Seirion's confession had left him empty.
Those words hadn't been sweet or comforting, but more like a condemnation.
Erian hadn't wanted that. He hadn't sought to be desired, much less by a god. All he had wanted from the beginning was a companion, someone to help him not feel the vast loneliness the abyss imposed on him.
But here he was, trapped in the same cycle that had haunted him since childhood.
Erian had always heard the comments. The women of the village compared him to flowers that lasted no more than a season. The men muttered as he passed, sometimes with admiration, sometimes with mockery. His mother told him it was a gift, but he knew it was a burden.
A face too beautiful only brought trouble, and he had proven it true.
And now Seirion, too, had fallen to his beauty.
