[b]Vasilia![/b]

"Fascinating," Molech grinned his metal grin. "Of all the petitioners who have approached me, your request is by far the most humble. Two lives and a shuttle? A request of insulting triviality to an Emperor, but a feat perhaps that Liu Ban might accomplish with effort."

Yet he hesitates on the threshold. He pauses to mournfully contemplate his broken, dying machine. Even to a casual observer the thing is as far beyond repair as Earth is from Tellus, but still he hesitates. Centuries of his life have gone into fighting back the inevitable and here he is on the verge of abandoning it. In this moment he does not look even like a reflection of an Emperor. In this moment is a mere mortal contemplating finally, truly accepting defeat and that is such a different thing to do than to speak of. 

*

[b]Alexa![/b]

Aphrodite is old. He is old in all the ways a man can be old.

The kind of old where the muscle has faded from his frame leaving hands of slender bone and skin that wrinkles like a suit a size too large. His throat has wasted away to reveal his adam's apple; his hair has thinned and gone as white as a blank page, his suit has faded from an eternal black to a dark rust red. He is undesirable in a way that makes him seem faintly distasteful. Who is this strange, decrepit old skeleton who all the bards sing of? How foolish are those who leap to do his bidding? What role does this crumbling relic have here, amidst the stars of empire, in the twilight of humanity, on the broken crownworld of Barassidar?

He might as well be a museum exhibit. A curiosity for the kind of person who becomes very worked up when it comes to beetles. And to some people, he remains so for all their lives. 

But when he looks at you now you know you'll never see him in that way again.

He is old in all the ways a man can be old - but he is [i]not[/i] a man, now is he? Zeus cloaks herself in a shape of power, as eternal as the skies themselves. She is as ageless as the colours and full of power because she knows no other way to be. When you look into the eyes of the God of Love now you see an excitement and youth you have never known from the divine. You see in that aged shape not a warning of the grave but a strange kind of hope. If you are very, very, lucky you might wind up like me: with a life so full of friends, so full of romance, so full of love that your heart grows larger than death itself. This is Aphrodite, at last! He is old because love is measured in years! He is aged because every wrinkle was once a smile! He is alien because he has a happiness that you do not yet understand!

"Listen, dollface," said the God of Love, pinching your marble cheek affectionately. "All I [i]ever[/i] wanted from you was for you to turn your back on everything you ever knew and cared about and devote your entire life to my service. All I [i]ever[/i] asked of you was to rise above your own nature, destroy the empire that created you, and say a few silly words. And all I'll do if I don't get my way is snap the galaxy in half, take back Prometheus' fire, and leave humanity to freeze alone in the dark until you're a memorial statue commemorating a species that went extinct for the crime of [i]failing me[/i]."

He smiled to let you know he'd done it before. 

The world outside loomed, as though through frosted glass - vague, indistinct, like time was slowed to a crawl.

"So tell me, Alexa, now that I've set the stakes - do you take this robot to be your lawfully wedded bride?"