Eating is a necessity, but cooking is an art. The unfortunate decorative tile with that little missive had been one of the earliest casualties as Aphrodite stomped through the kitchen. A haze of smoke clouded the ceiling and tray upon tray of what looked to be hockey pucks lay on every available surface.
When the last tray pulled from the battered oven proved to be just as inedible, the goddess dropped it to the floor, kicking one of them as it bounced off the tray and sending it spinning through the air, embedding it six inches into the drywall. Chocolate chips were scattered across the tile like spent bullets and flour was smeared across her cheek, and her dress. Ruined. Dotted with specks of batter and broccoli, which was quite the mystery considering she was certain that the recipe hadn't called for... flipping through the pages, the goddess swore virulently at the realization that the pages had been glued together around batch number twenty-seven, and flung it onto the stove, where it immediately began to smolder.
Why on earth had she turned on the burner?
Stomping her foot, Aphrodite screamed behind her teeth, near tears, and at the sound of a throat clearing, she turned slowly, ready to strangle Peggy with what was left of her apron if the old biddy dared to so much as crack a smile... but it wasn't Peggy, it was...
"Eros?" Dumbfounded, Aphrodite stared, and only when a tear fell to track down her cheek did the stasis break, and she sent would-be-cookies everywhere as she ran to throw her arms around her son. "Eros, darling, my baby boy, you're home!"