"You," Aphrodite imbued each word with tremendous purpose, "Are in love with him."
Apollo, within the truthful domain he enacted, could not deny such a statement. He grimaced, feeling each word on his tongue, tasting the deceit within their syllables.
"Deductive as always, my lady."
"Oh!" Aphrodite grasped his calloused hand. Her own touch was silken, though not without force. Her exclamations continued with an air of delight, though Apollo scarcely heard them, "Why, this is wonderful, is it not? You young gods all seem so avoidant when it comes to love... I always did wonder whether something was holding you lot but back but this! This proves what I have always assumed: That we are all capable of loving and, more importantly, being loved." He was not oblivious to the note of relief in her tone in addition to the gaiety.
But instead of returning this joy, it was with dead eyes that Apollo looked upon her.
"Lady Aphrodite-" She gasped as the formality of his plea shocked her immensely, "- Is it at all possible to rebuke love once it had been initiated?"
In response to this, Aphrodite rose. In a rather unceremonious manner, she drew her fist across his temple. Apollo fell with a cry.
With the younger god sprawled across the marbled floor at her feet, Aphrodite spoke, "You dare enter my home with intentions to dishonour me? Hear this, young god: Love triumphs over truth in every battle."
Her piece said, Aphrodite abandoned him where he lay. He was no longer worthy of her pity.
