The Goddess Of Love Aphrodite Short Story

Isn't it pitiful for an artist to admire his own work? That wretched "Sightless Goddess of love" kept attracting visitors. I stood there among the mesmerized crowd, looking at the unfinished painting by the supposedly anonymous author. Little did they know he was standing next to them, as they ecstatically commented on the well-painted yet undone piece of art. The origin of the name was rather obvious - her eyes had never been finished. Even as a young student in art school I have always been interested in Greek mythology. I find the contrast between mortal and godlike fascinating. But I've always been fond of one figure in particular- The Goddess of love Aphrodite. She was described as a beauty unknown to mankind, so humble and caring,

Just as I was about to give in to slumber, I heard a voice echo from the drawing room. A soft, honeyed female voice called out to me. Alarmed, I grabbed the first thing I could, which happened to be my night lamp, and slowly made my way towards the source of the noise. I was like a sailor drawn in by a siren's song. I entered the dark room with great cation, but no one was there. It was practically impossible, but I still felt as if the voice was originating from the painting. I knew it was a silly thing to assume but there was literally nothing else in the room. For weeks that event kept recurring. Some nights I would hear the voice again, leaving me with the choice of either ignoring it or tracing it once more. And every time I would end up in the drawing room, staring at the unfinished image of the Goddess. I was, and still am, a single man. There was no possible way that a woman was just hiding in my home and playing with my sanity. Nor did I ever believe in ghosts, so the thought that I was haunted never crossed my

Or was it night? I had honestly lost track. There she was- beautiful, stunning, out-of-this-world even, but her perfection was frightening. Her divine beauty felt unnatural and fake. As if it was hiding something bellow the surface- an ugly, evil, subversive creature, that wanted to take away the last drop of sanity away from me. It was the only thing I had left and wasn't about to let it go. If before I felt unease with the masterpiece now I felt pure resentment toward it. I saw the lips move and heard false, pretended kindness come out of her mouth. She besought me to finish her heavenly hazel eyes, so she could lay them on me. But I wasn't ready, I would never