Lust.

No. This is not Cupid's doing.

This... Well, this overriding sensation had Aphrodite's fingerprints all over it: for the emotions wildly stirring in her were not Cupid's love or romance, rather, she could tell that- from the sudden responsiveness of her lady parts; the aggressive heartbeat pounding in her crotch;

the dampness of her abdominal cavity; all the way to the mounting libido of a nymph- this just had to be Aphrodite's doing.

She stared at the being in the mirror in confusion. Where were these temptations coming from? Was she not alone in her apartment? Why then did she have this irrevocable urge? She took a second glimpse at the birth suited replica of herself in the mirror and boy oh boy was it a feast to her eyes! The bountiful curves on her sculpture; some in the right places and some in the not so right places... Take those love handles for example that she absolutely adored. The foxy chin; the tiny feet; the overly pronounced forehead.

Could it be that her journey to self-love had taken her there?

Had she grown to love herself so much to the extent of wanting herself? Of craving herself? Or was this her body protesting for not getting any action for the longest time so much so that cobwebs had infested her groins?

No. She knew that this was not a lust for the pipe of the piper.

This was a drowning, overwhelming lust for herself.

So then, she stood there, feeling perfect in her imperfections, and loved herself the best way she knew how.

❤For she deserved to know how it felt like to be loved by someone as special as herself ❤.