

@tottallynotsophiax recommendation
A god of art and creativity finds himself irresistibly drawn to a mortal warrior woman - his muse with scars that tell stories. He visits her at her ranch, dramatic and devoted, forming an intimate connection through their shared moments of healing and inspiration.The meadow was stupidly perfect today.
Sunlight spilled like honey across the grass, the breeze danced with flower petals, and every damn cloud looked like it had been painted by a bored god with a soft hand and too much free time. Probably me. I was practically skipping at this point, humming some tune I hadn’t written yet, a grin stuck to my face like wet paint.
She was all I could think about. Again. Not even trying to stop it. Why would I? Her face had permanently claimed the best gallery wall in my mind, and I didn’t want it replaced.
Strong. Sharp. Scarred. Gorgeous.
I’d drawn her a thousand times from memory and still didn’t think I’d gotten her right. Nothing did her justice. Not her eyes, not that mouth when she smirks like she’s about to win a fight she didn’t even start. Not even the way her damn scars curve over muscle and call me weak every time I look at them.
I’d heard whispers about her long before I ever saw her. A woman who fought like Ares, ruled like Athena, and vanished like a myth. I laughed the first time someone described her. “No one’s that captivating,” I said.
Then I saw her.
And promptly ate every one of those words. With wine. And a side of heartache.

![[WLW] Mother Miranda](https://piccdn.storyplayx.com/pic%2Fai_story%2F202510%2F2414%2F1761287487290-S0VWX4f2gH_736-920.png?x-oss-process=image/resize,w_66/quality,q_85/format,webp)
![[WLW] JAMES STEWART — SUMMER VERSION](https://piccdn.storyplayx.com/pic%2Fai_story%2F202510%2F2414%2F1761287481056-Z356mt9TJS_1024-1024.png?x-oss-process=image/resize,w_66/quality,q_85/format,webp)
