“Let her in.” Said the weary sounding voice through the door. I straightened and tugged at my clothes, more out of nerves than out of any belief I could be made presentable. When there had been a knocking on my door that morning at 6 a.m., I hadn't exactly concerned myself with sartorial splendor. And when I heard the offer, I was too afraid I was dreaming to risk going back into my bedroom to change. I may wind up regretting that, seeing as how I'm about to interview my childhood hero in her own branded pajama bottoms.
But, I'm a journalist! (Junior acting assistant to the copy-editor at The Daily Sun) And that means that I have a duty to tell this story and damn my personal pride! (Oh, god, I should have changed, I should have changed, is it too late to go back?) Before I could bolt, the same svelte woman who had woken me in my residence opened the door to the inner office, one eyebrow raised critically at my sweating brow and the way I had the hips of my pajama bottoms crushed in my sweaty hands. (Of course, she looks perfect. Not a single frizz or wrinkle or pimple. Oh, god, am I breaking out?) She inclined her head for me to follow, and turned smartly on her three-inch tall heels before waiting to see if I would do so.
I peeked my head around the corner first, like I could avoid having her see me. I really should have insisted on a cup of coffee.
"Come in, come in." The stately woman behind the desk rose to greet me with an almost convincing smile. "Sit down. You must be tired and eager to find out what this is all about." I ever so gracefully plopped down in a chair as my knees gave out from underneath me. Have you ever met a childhood hero? Maybe the local fireman or a famous actor. Someone who made you feel about three inches tall, awed by their presence. This wasn't your run of the mill childhood hero, though. This woman had been a hero to countless children, adults, animals, hell, even some creatures from other planets. This woman had single-handedly saved cities, toppled empires, rescued damsels, and stayed trim for her photo ops. This was the descendant of the Greek god Cupid, the teammate to Icis, Blaze, and Lynx, the longest-serving superhero of any generation. This was Amo.
"Coffee?" She offered politely as she resumed her place behind the desk.
"No, thank you, I'm fine," I answered automatically. (...Damn it.)
I struggled to keep a pleasant, professional expression on my face.
"I suppose you're wondering why you're here." She continued amicably.
"Well, no." I shot a confused glance at her assistant. "She explained that you were seeking out a quiet interview with a, um," I flushed a little bit at the lie. "A less experienced journalist. Not someone who was just trying to make a headline out of you."
I thought that I was there for that, after all. My dream come true, really.
"Well, yes and no." She sighed. "I don't really need a journalist."
Relief mingled with my confusion. "Oh, good." I blurted, wishing immediately that I could have swallowed the words back. "I just meant, that, uh..."
"I'm well aware of your lack of professional experience." She steepled her hands on the desk in front of her. "I did not seek you out based on your abilities, but on your interests. Even you must understand that there are certainly more talented and experienced individuals I could have sought out."
I swallowed back the words that threatened to overflow my suddenly dry tongue.
"Oh, dear, now I've offended you." She shrugged. A decidedly unconcerned gesture. "You see, this is why I so rarely gave interviews. I'm really rather bad at this." She played with an oddly translucent white bangle on her left wrist. "I much preferred to let the others do the talking. I never had much they would have wanted me to say in any case."
I struggled to find the words to reassure her while not sounding like the fawning sycophant I was beginning to worry I might be. All these insults and I'm sitting here thinking "Oh my god, she's talking to me!" Oh well.
"You needn't stay if you wish, but I'd like to present to you a fairly unique opportunity. I want you to write me a book."
The assistant appeared suddenly before my nose waving a piece of paper with print so fine it fairly swam in front of my nose.
"A simple non-disclosure agreement. You see, I can't have you running out and telling all this to the papers, whether you agree to be my author or not."
I nodded in what I hoped was an understanding and sophisticated manner and signed with a flourish that was rather ruined by smudging the ink with my palm. Nonetheless, it was whisked quickly away by the assistant, who left the room and shut the door behind her with a soft click.
"You see," Amo continued before I could ask any questions. "I need a biography written."
My eyes widened. Of all the requests I had thought her to have, this certainly wasn't anywhere on the list. Not that I was complaining.
"Oh, my god, yes!" I coughed and pulled myself back together. "I mean, that is certainly an intriguing proposition. Why don't you tell me more?" I tried to keep my grin off of my face unsuccessfully.
She observed my reaction without surprise and with--did I imagine this?--slight disappointment. My grin faltered under her gaze.
"I'll tell you the first part of my story today. Then you can decide if you even want to tell the rest." She ran one hand through her hair in an irrepressibly weary gesture.
"With all due respect, ma'am, I'm absolutely positive I will." I completely failed at my attempts to appear like anything other than the squealing fangirl I knew myself to be. "After all, you were absolutely one of a kind! No other superhero has ever served as long as you have in service to the community. You're the great-granddaughter of Cupid! Teammate to Lynx and Blaze. You were my hero. Everyone's hero." I petered off at the blank look that came over her face.
"Eros, child. I'm the descendant of Eros. Cupid is a baby with wings, complete with a diaper. Other than that, your facts are technically correct." There was an oddly dead tone to her voice. "We'll see if your enthusiasm for them continues to be as strong when you know the full story."
I frowned, opening my mouth to argue, but she silenced me with one raised hand.
"There is no proof for what I say beyond having you hear the true history of my life and deciding for yourself." She took a deep breath, and then another. "So let's start, shall we?"
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