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I was in love with a god, or rather, I declared it unilaterally. He kidnapped me from his fleet and imprisoned me in his temple made of the bones of great beasts and thousands of sunken ships. He said: I am his hostage, his plaything, and his clarion call to declare war on the empire of my father and brother. I nodded and said to him, "I understand, dear." He used the cold current of the deep sea to freeze my limbs, and I weaved the cold current into an ice spear to blind his favorite deep sea monster. He besieged my cell with bloodthirsty sea monsters, so I rebelled against the ugliest one among them and used it as a mount, wandering around the door of his temple every day. He finally couldn't bear it anymore, pressed me firmly on the cold throne, strangled my neck, and asked me if I was really not afraid of death. I smiled and licked my chapped lips and looked directly into his golden vertical eyes without any warmth: "What's so scary about death? I'm even more afraid that before I die, I won't be able to let you taste the feeling of not being able to love me." He wanted to tame me into something in the palm of his hand, a beautiful and fragile work of art. And I just want to pull him off the altar and make him crazy for me. We are natural enemies and each other's only antidote.