No more lonely nights or cold
mornings, Hephaestus thinks as he palms his latest invention.
Its smooth surface easily fits inside his large hand and when he
curls his fingers, the ring is hidden from view. Its flawless
circle is broken at the moment—there is a tiny clasp only
Hephaestus can open that locks or releases the ring. Whoever wears
it will be utterly his, at his mercy. The metal, forged in his
foundry, will respond only to his touch, warm only to
his blood. When he wants to feel the metal in his hand
again, it will pull its wearer to him, wherever Aean is in this
world or beyond, on Olympus or in Hades, drawing his lover at
his beck and call. At his whim.
Finally, with this ring, he’s in
control.
For now the clasp is open for easy access,
the twin arms of the ring
