Alma shifted in her seat. “There’s nothing you can do? No medicine? No experimental treatment?”

​

Doctor Shreb shook his head. “The cancer is aggressive and has spread to more than just the pancreas.”

​

Alma’s eyes, youthful and alert eyes at odds with the aged face they sat in, glittered with tears, but her voice remained steady. “What are we supposed to do, then?”

​

Doctor Shreb looked at Eros. His calculated sympathy cut worse than the diagnosis. He had had this conversation hundreds of times, and before he retired, there’d be hundreds more.

​

“We can make you very comfortable, Mr. Paeony, until…”

​

Doctor Shreb and Alma continued to speak, but Eros no longer listened.

​

At the prognosis, the full weight of mortality had slammed into him. When he made the choice to abandon his godhood, he’d known he would die. He’d never admitted to anyone, but he’d grown to even relish the idea of finality.

​

For seventy years, Eros had taken nothing for granted. In losing immortality, he’d won his reason to live. He could never express his gratitude for all he’d gained. 

​

Unlike those born mortal, Eros knew what existed beyond death. He was sure, though he’d never asked, that Hades wouldn’t send him to the Fields of Asphodel. He didn’t know if that meant he’d go to Elysium (not that he deserved the privilege) or if Hades would assign him a job in his palace. Either option was too much to hope for, yet Hades liked him. And when Alma followed him into the Underworld, Hades would reunite the two. If not on his own whim, then on the orders of Persephone.

​

He had no reason to fear the next step in the natural cycle he’d opted into. 

​

Yet Eros was afraid.

​

The terror had begun many years prior, when he found his first gray hair. It’d compounded with each new wrinkle. It had reached confounding heights when his eldest great-granddaughter had had her first child earlier this spring.

​

Eros was old, and he was about to die.

​

“Thank you,” Alma said to Doctor Shreb, pulling Eros from his swirling thoughts.

​

Doctor Shreb offered her his hand. “I’m available whenever, Mrs. Paeony.”

​

Alma glared at him. “Thank you again.”

​

Her curtness didn’t faze the doctor. Her quiet rage couldn’t be the worst response to the terrible news he specialized in.

​

He extended his fingers to Eros instead, and Eros didn’t hesitate to shake his hand. Doctor Shreb wasn’t to blame for his fate. He hadn’t caused the cancer, only found it.

​

After a lackluster goodbye, Eros and Alma left the office and continued to the front entrance. Outside, Alma gestured to the small garden on the west side of the building.

​

Eros wanted to go home, but Alma never passed up an opportunity to visit a garden. And when had he ever denied her anything?

​

“It might not be for us,” he said, not to dissuade her but to prepare her for disappointment.

​

“I need fresh air.”

​

Eros shrugged and let her lead him along. No one stopped them. Soon, they reached the start of the purple brick walkway that weaved through the garden. Alma guided him to a stone bench near the front of the garden, nestled in multicolored hydrangea bushes in full bloom. Much to Eros’ dismay, his sense of smell had all but left him, so their wonderful perfume was lost on him.

​

Once they’d eased their tender bodies onto the bench, Alma turned to him. She moved faster than her arthritis normally allowed, but if it caused her pain, it did not show in her urgent expression.

​

“Call Apollo.”

​

“Why?”

​

But there was no need to ask. There was only one reason the Sun God would be of any use in this situation.

​

Alma barreled on as if he hadn’t spoken. “Or contact Hecate. She took your godhood, and she can give it back.”

​

Once made mortal, a god couldn’t reverse his decision. That was why Eros was the only god to have done it.

​

If he had to live his life over, he would abandon everything again to keep his soulmate safe from his mother’s torment. Waking up next to Alma each morning, creating a family with her, experiencing all the lows and highs life offered—it was all worth the price.

​

Eros’ gnarled hand cupped Alma’s cheek, and she leaned into his touch, as hungry for it as she’d been when they first met all her life cycles ago. “No, love.”

​

“The Witch Goddess has—”

​

“This is my end. I accept that.”

​

The tears Alma had refused to spill in the doctor’s office fell. “You can’t die because of me.”

​

“I am all I am because of you.” Eros’ thumb brushed away her tears. “All these years spent by your side, never have I not been happy. You gave me a far greater Purpose than the Fates bestowed on me. Thanks to you, my death is well-earned. I am luckier than most.”

Brief silence.

​

“Will you forget me?”

​

Eros shook his head. “Even if I am forced to drink from the Lethe, you’ll never fade from my memory.”

​

“I don’t know how long it’ll be until I join you.”

​

“Don’t be in a rush. I’ll be waiting for you.” He cracked a smile. “I think I’ve gotten quite good at it.

​

Alma knocked her shoulder against him. “Oh, Eros…”

​

Eros took her face in his hands. “We are a journey without end.”

​

Somehow, after all this time, Alma blushed. For a fleeting moment, the scent of peonies hung around them. The promise of discovery surrounded them.

​

Eros’ lips met hers, and he whispered against them, “I love you.”