.Eros.
He had never prayed before, and he most certainly had never made a journey of it. He tells himself it can’t hurt to try, if anything at least he’s covering more ground. He’s finding more places he can say Aion isn’t.
So he travels up the mountain. It’s a hard journey on foot, the terrain rocky and uneven. Icy, some of it, and slippery. Not to mention it’s cold—so, so cold. The wind doesn’t relent, even as it knives at his face, stinging his eyes and drawing tears. His ears are numb and his knees tremble. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, maybe he should turn back.
Can you even ask for something from a god you’ve never prayed to?
Eros had never considered himself religious, not really. At least not in the sense those he grew up with seemed to. His parents would take him to pray and he’d listen, he’d follow along, but he would never pray himself. How strange, it seemed to him, to talk to someone—something—you couldn’t see. Something he didn’t feel.
How are you supposed to believe in a god when bad things happen?
He reasons it’s who you turn to when there is no one left. Maybe that’s why he’s here.
Eros surveys the view. Beneath him the land expands, almost infinitely, it seems. He supposes if it weren’t for the curve of the earth or the clouds dense with moisture he’d be able to see forever. He thinks of Aion and his love for mountains. Is that why he likes them, for the view? Maybe they’d be able to come back together, one day.
That’s why he’s here—for Aion,—he reminds himself, turning to continue up the mountain.
As he reaches the top, he hears a voice. It’s quiet and unsteady in its conviction. Eros follows it, careful not to disturb it as it speaks. Places of worship are places of reverence, after all.
“Are you here to pray?,” he asks as she finishes. His voice is but a whisper upon his confession. “I’m, um, not familiar with the gods of this place.”
hope you don't mind a somber eros c'x
So he travels up the mountain. It’s a hard journey on foot, the terrain rocky and uneven. Icy, some of it, and slippery. Not to mention it’s cold—so, so cold. The wind doesn’t relent, even as it knives at his face, stinging his eyes and drawing tears. His ears are numb and his knees tremble. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, maybe he should turn back.
Can you even ask for something from a god you’ve never prayed to?
Eros had never considered himself religious, not really. At least not in the sense those he grew up with seemed to. His parents would take him to pray and he’d listen, he’d follow along, but he would never pray himself. How strange, it seemed to him, to talk to someone—something—you couldn’t see. Something he didn’t feel.
How are you supposed to believe in a god when bad things happen?
He reasons it’s who you turn to when there is no one left. Maybe that’s why he’s here.
Eros surveys the view. Beneath him the land expands, almost infinitely, it seems. He supposes if it weren’t for the curve of the earth or the clouds dense with moisture he’d be able to see forever. He thinks of Aion and his love for mountains. Is that why he likes them, for the view? Maybe they’d be able to come back together, one day.
That’s why he’s here—for Aion,—he reminds himself, turning to continue up the mountain.
As he reaches the top, he hears a voice. It’s quiet and unsteady in its conviction. Eros follows it, careful not to disturb it as it speaks. Places of worship are places of reverence, after all.
hope you don't mind a somber eros c'x
tag: @Florentine
