The Perils of Unrequited Love

CHAPTER XIII: LOVE KILLS

Militat omnis amans, et habet sua castra Cupido:

Attice, crede mihi, militat omnis amans.

Every lover wages a war, Cupid has his own campaign

Believe me, Atticus, every lover wages a war.

---Ovid, Amores I, 9

Long ago, when the Goddess of beauty, Aphrodite first experienced the pain of heartbreak, the goddess sought out Apollo, the god of medicine for a remedy. There was none for love was a terminal illness and death was the only prognosis. Taking Apollo's advice, Aphrodite jumped from the top of the cape where Apollo's temple was located. Amidst the roaring waves against the rocky cape of Lefkadas, the goddess of beauty was reborn, unharmed by the fall, as she was an immortal being. It was said then that the fall from the cape of Lefkadas could cure all heartbreaks. Over many centuries, many heartbroken souls, including the poetess Sappho, herself, had seek Apollo's cure and lost their lives to love, earning the white cape of Lefkadas the nickname ' The Lady's jump'

Since no human had ever come back alive from death and Aphrodite never confirmed nor denied the rumors, Anteros had always taken the story with a grain of salt. It didn't seem likely that the goddess who vowed to never belong to a man would let grief take her to the point of seeking advice from Apollo.

If his brother, Eros knew for certain, he never told Anteros either.

There was, however, one thing Anteros was absolutely certain about the cape of Lefkada; In a way, the lady's jump did cure heartbreaks since the soul who plummeted to death there would never be in love again. No matter how many times they were reborn, they would never feel love, nor would they experience heartbreaks because they did not have a heart for the arrow of love to land.

Even if the soul drank the river lethe dry, they could never regrow what they lost at Lefkadas.

As the god of requited love, Anteros considered this the saddest tragedy.

Love was indeed an obsession and when not reciprocated properly, it could easily turn into desperation. 

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

The last light of the day was at the horizon when Rosabelle arrived at the southern part of the island of lefkada, where the land extended into the roaring angry sea.

The whole island seemed to be especially blessed with Apollo's good graces since yellow and white tiny flowers were still blooming despite the approaching winter.

She held her trench coat more tightly.

At the top of the hill, a light house stood where there used to be the grand temple of Apollo. Time hadn't been kind to the ancient structure, for only small remnants of the temple's former glory still stood against the rough autumn wind.

She eyed the lighthouse warily. The lady's jump was only a short few metres southeast from it and she must not, absolutely not, go anywhere near that damn spot.

Atticus Fowler, that despicable, diabolical, abominable, odious, affronting, evil scumbag ( The gods knew she didn't study enough for GCSE to adequately describe that wanker.), was leaning leisurely against the lighthouse, a very advantaged position, from the point of war strategy. She must give that to him. His position made it difficult for her to herd him toward the cliff.

He was dressed in ragged clothes and looked like he didn't shave in days. He stunk badly. In fact, just the sight of him managed to repulse her so much that she wanted to vomit.