Aphrodite Goblin's Pet [cracked]

He became a living accessory. He sat at her feet during banquets, silent and weeping silently, his violet eyes staring at nothing. When suitors came to woo the Goddess, they often confused Gorp for a statue, until he blinked.

For months, Gorp endured the "love" of the Goddess. She brushed his golden hair one hundred times a day. She dressed him in silks that cost more than mortal kingdoms. She paraded him before Hephaestus to show him that she could "fix" his mistakes.

But the transformation had cost Gorp his soul. As a goblin, he had been content with coal, warm corners, and the occasional stolen gem. As Aphrodite’s pet, he felt nothing but a hollow, aching coldness. He could no longer eat the rats he once hunted; his new, porcelain stomach rejected them. He could no longer sleep in the ashes; his new, pristine skin stained too easily.

A gash opened. Blood—red and vital—welled up. aphrodite goblin's pet

"I said," Gorp growled, his voice deep and resonant, the voice of a god, "break it."

"You are perfect," Aphrodite declared, circling him. "You shall be my lap-dog. You shall sit by my throne and fan me with palm leaves. You shall be the envy of Olympus."

It was a terrible thing, to be loved by a goddess whose ego was bound by aesthetics. The magic slammed into the goblin, twisting his bones. He shrieked—a high, warbling sound—as his warts dissolved into silk-smooth skin. His knobby spine straightened with a sickening crack, elongating until he stood a head taller than Adonis. His yellow eyes widened, the irises shifting to a stunning, unnatural violet. He became a living accessory

Where a dirty goblin once stood, there was now a creature of terrifying symmetry. He was beautiful, yes. Heart-stoppingly so. But it was a hard, cold beauty. He looked less like a man and more like a marble statue given breath.

Glimmer's days were spent lounging in the lush gardens of Aphrodite's temple, chasing after fluttering butterflies, and playing tricks on the goddess's mortal attendants. He loved to hide tiny, exquisite gifts – a delicate shell, a shimmering crystal, or a hand-woven garland – for Aphrodite to discover, which would inevitably bring a smile to her radiant face.

He reached down and picked up a jagged shard. With a snarl that was purely goblin at heart, he dragged the sharp edge across his own perfect cheek. For months, Gorp endured the "love" of the Goddess

She did not turn Gorp into a statue, nor did she simply smooth his skin. She loved him.

One evening, as Aphrodite prepared for a festival, she turned to her pet. "Gorp," she cooed, "bring me my mirror."

Glimmer, content in the knowledge that his mistress and his new friend were happy, continued to frolic in the gardens, spreading joy and mischief wherever he went. For in the world of gods and mortals, even the smallest creatures can have a profound impact on the lives of those around them.

When Aphrodite saw the throne, she didn't see the gold; she saw the intention. She saw the cage. In a fit of pique, she refused to sit. Instead, she turned her gaze to the corner of the workshop, where a small, hunchbacked goblin shoveled coal into the forge fires. Gorp was warty, snaggle-toothed, and smelled of sulfur and unwashed socks. He was, in essence, everything the Goddess of Beauty loathed.