Love’s Radiance: Part I

Getting ready to go out is a production, to say the least. I’m Aphrodite, for crying out loud. Walking out of my room un-made up would probably stop the world dead in its tracks. There is a lot to be done. Long brush strokes smooth out my hair to perfection, not a hair out of place. Soft lips get coated in a shiny red lipstick, and short strokes cover my eyes in a soft blue. I slip on a red dress, not my favorite, but stunning nonetheless. Red heels complete the outfit, along with a silver chain necklace.

Finally, I slip on the red curly-haired wig, hiding my natural hair underneath. More than a handful of bobby pins are needed to keep this thing in place.   

Ha, surprised you, didn’t I? Since when does Aphrodite wear a wig? 

Tonight, my friends, is all about escaping the goddess name and standing out in my second favorite way in the world: as a singer in a mortal club. 

You see, back when I was overseas, I realized that sometimes it was tiring to be the goddess of love. People always expect you to have all the answers about love and to be together ALL the time. I mean, I love to look perfect, but sometimes I just want to lie around in a T-shirt and underwear. But anyway, I found that the best way to be beautiful and mysterious at the same time was to go undercover. I found my love for singing in a little club in Paris, and Maria was born: a sexy, redheaded broad who frequents many clubs to perform. 

I haven’t been out as Maria since I left France, and I am desperate for some relief.

I manage to sneak out of the OA without much trouble, though I imagine I’m quite lucky. There are so many gods here. Hard to do anything in secret. I hail a cab and direct the driver towards Mystic, the club I’m playing tonight. As we drive through the city, my heart is pounding in my chest. I can barely contain my excitement. Finally, a break.

All eyes are on me when I step into the club. A couple of low whistles bring a smile to my lips, and the murmurs of my beauty turn it into a grin. I stride right up to the stage where the manager is setting up and introduce myself. “Maria Tyre,” I say simply.

He nods. “You’re on in ten.”

Best words I’ve heard all week.

The lights finally lower. The interlude music switches over to a live band waiting behind me. The guitar strums a clean chord, and the drummer gives me the first beat. With all eyes on me, I start my set. A low, soulful ballad that turns into a bit of a swing: good for capturing attention. Cause that’s what I want to do at first. Just pique their interest, make them want to see more from me. 

Then when I break out into something more upbeat, the crowd can enjoy and dance. And that’s exactly what I do. I sing loud and proud out into the night, and the audience eats it up like ambrosia. I’m getting into it; I’m dancing around the stage and falling back into that groove that I so loved back in Europe.

All too soon, the set is over. Thunderous applause rings out across the dance floor. I bow and thank them as I climb off. Maria was on fire tonight, and I feel reassured that I can continue this passion in Olympus. I grin as I strut up to the bar and order a drink.

A man brushes my arm as he settles into a seat beside me. With a soft drawl to his words, I feel the sarcasm cutting into me like a knife. “Hello, Maria.” I turn my head and freeze. 

Apollo smirks softly at me. He leans in close to whisper in my ear, “Or should I say…Aphrodite?”

Shit.

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Aphrodite (Cady Hammer)

Aphrodite (Cady Hammer)

Social Media Manager (Facebook)
Aphrodite is written by Cady Hammer, currently revising her debut YA fantasy novel, Chasing Fae. She is also the author of Fluff About Fantasy, a blog to aid fantasy writers in the writing process and to get people excited about her work.
Aphrodite (Cady Hammer)

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8 Comments

  1. I caught your act in Paris. I hope you didn’t throw that awful can-can step in there this time.

  2. Knew she could sing, because you used to serenade me on beautiful, moonlit nights. It was a secret. There are some things about yourself that you don’t share until you’re ready.

    Keep singing, sweet Aph, keep singing.

    Ares

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