Gaea idled, sprawled out and stretched, sapped of strength and yet restless. Another wicked wave of heat swamped her tawny flesh and soaked her vine-tangled hair. These were frequent now. She knew what they were.
Gaea's reason for being was being taken from her. Her drive to procreate waned.
The gloomy weight of Nyx loomed heavy above her now. A dull unknown longing had surfaced in the molten core of her heart. It replaced the need to fill her shrunken belly. It was a new hunger she'd never known the urge to sate. It was a thirst she'd never felt compelled to quench.
What was to become of her now? What was this replacement ache designed to make of her β to tell her? Had she not done enough? She'd brought forth the bloody Sky, for Heaven's sake. Millennia ago, mind you, but it was a labor not even that of the Twelve Mighty Titans had rivaled.
So much had been taken, reaped, but so very long since any viable seed had been sown β nothing worthy of taking root, for certain. Gaea feared she had nothing left to give.
The hoards of ungrateful blood-sucking products of her womb β now stretched, torn, and rendered uncultivable from their unforgiving passage β provided little comfort in this time of unsettling change. For the first time in Gaea's existence she cared little about their various stations, their conquests, their cataclysmic differences, or even their general well being. For the first time, Gaea felt a pang deep within that had nothing to do with them and everything to do with a strange new desire surging in the void left behind.
She wanted passion: lust without the accompanying duty, the tenderness of a shared bed without the overriding purpose. After all, the weight of the world had rested not on her sturdy shoulders, but rather passed through her blessed loins.
What Gaea wanted was to feel ripe and womanly again β that rush of blood and swell of breasts as she rose and fell in the act of creation β but now, this time, she ached to create something else. Not a god. Not an element. Not another superhuman race. Not a Heavenly Body. Something of her and for her and her alone β a thing conceived to serve, to please, not betray, shame, dismiss, or defile her.
Gaea wanted passion: a touch for touch sake.
Pleasure: pure, undemanding pleasure.
A thin far-off sound of singing and running water interrupted Gaea's menopausal introspective. Her dark green all-seeing eyes narrowed and focused on a tiny unfamiliar waterfall where a dainty little wisp of a creature bathed in the sparkling flow. She had a handful of ripe cherries and was popping them into her juice-stained mouth between languid lines of her sweet melody.
It was troublesome enough that Gaea β Mother of all things β did not recognize this tiny form. She was taken aback further still by the immediate return of her omnipotent peeping. Unprecedented. Bright flashing eyes glared right back into Gaea's supreme stare with unwavering self-assurance. This uncataloged nymph took casual liberties with Gaea small few would dare. Those big glittering eyes held strange sentiments, unsettling depth of knowledge and β what was this β compassion?
Giggling, the spritely figure cleared her pretty throat and half covered her exquisite breasts in mock shyness.
Another wave of heat washed over Gaea. Her unblinking eyes and continued puzzlement provoked an additional gentle throat clearing, followed by a smile that could melt the milky caps from the Pindus.
"What magical creature are you?" Gaea recovered. "Of water, air, earth, or fire?" she awaited no answer, "What a pleasant looking little thing you are. I shall call you..."
"Pardon me, mum, I am not yours to name," the creature's voice was music, her chide a playful quip. "I think it rather presumptuous of you to try..." though she smiled brightly and did not look to have taken the slightest offense.
A minor tremor affected Gaea's reply.
"I am Gaea. I am Mother. You are of my making."
The words were sure and proud. The tone was not.
The creature giggled again, popped the last cherry into her mouth, placed her hands on her hips and carefully surveyed the growing bewilderment in Gaea's great face. Everything Gaea knew to be true balanced on the head of a pin as the strange cock-sure little sprite smiled back her defiant delight.
"I do not belong to you, madam, as I was not born of your body." The words were careful and gentle, though still cheerful and matter-of-fact. "Nay, mum, you shall not name me... though, if it please you, you may call on me."
Gaea repeated, quieter now, as if assuring herself. "I am Gaea. I am Mother. You are of my making, as are all things..."
"Nay, my great lady, wondrous Gaea. Though I may
give myself