Aquarius approached the bag with caution. Slouched as it was rather dejectedly on a stone, seemingly sulking.
"Excuse me," he enquired and the bag shuddered, startled.
"Inssstholence!" it lisped through the clicking gold clasp.
"Terribly sorry," Aquarius stepped closer, fascinated. He had never seen a talking handbag before, lest one that spluttered with such rage.
"Tha m'ethsst égal," he sighed, letting the folds of crocadile leather heave around him in defeat. "Zisth isth my dessttthhhhiny, mon fortune."
Aquarius ventured closer just as the bag began to quietly sob. "Oh," he breathed, unsure as to what to do. He looked about but there was so much commotion with the papparazzi he knew that he was alone to deal with this emotional french sack.
The sobbing climaxed into a watery crescendo, "She sayths I cry crocadile tears! But thiths isth not so. I love her, I love her, I love her," it howled, "but she can only love herself."
"Ahah!" Aqaurius exclaimed, "You are a fan? Of the star?"
"Imbétthhhile!" the bag spat and Aquarius jumped. The bag regarded him and conceded a "Pardon.... it is just, ohhhh, if only I was just a fan. Yet I am worse, I am but a handbag, her accessory, her plaything. A terrible role in life to play."
Aquarius frowned and looked over at the flashing camera bulbs and cries "Miss Venus, over here" " Give us a smile, Venus."
"Is it not nice to be the plaything of a beautiful woman?" he asked.
"Ye Gods, non! But what can I do, I worship at her pedestel. We are eternally bound. I had career athspirations myself, but now I just dabble. She ith the ttthhhsscelebrity."
"What is it you do?" Aquarius asked, conversationally. The bag spat out a business card.
"I`m in communications. Methssageths mainly and I have one for you. Pay no attention to my melancholy, this love is epic. But for you, mere mortal, take heed. Cupid, yethsss, it is Cupid that you need."
"Cupid." Aquarius sounded the name aloud.
"Oui, lènfant terrible of the Olympuths set. Monstre of a little thing, sans morals. Find him and he will teach you about love."
"Where is he?"
"Probably smoking opium somewhere in Chinatown, urghh, le brat. Now, excuthse moi." The bag heaved off the rock and slouchily waddled towards the crowd, that begrudingly parted way.
The radiant Venus was mounting her marble pillar to be raised into the clouds again, posing and flashing pearly whites to the maddened crowd of papparazzos. Hermès tried to get up with a leap, but fell short much to his goddeses irritation.
"Urgh, will you get up here, Hermès, you idiot!" she snapped, awkardly trying to catch his strap with her angelic toe, all the while maintaining a brilliant smile.
"Coming, mon amis!" it cried and hurled itself alongside her with delight to her seething irritation.
Click here to follow the love story of Venus and Hermès
Click here to follow the story of the Hermès Kelly Bag
