Mind Over Matter

What's your take on the world ending for the Greek Gods? Or when they cease to be relevant to mankind, and what happens to them? Would Athena, Aphrodite and Artemis take the streets and march for Pride? Would Demeter be the manager at a zoo?

Time passes. The world changes. Temples fall. People nowspeak their names as if they are fairytales.

The gods are dead.

~

Apollo’s chariot lies broken and forgotten in the ruins of acity no one knows the name of anymore. He watches the sun crawl across the skyof its own volition, without him to push it forward.

“Do you miss it?” Artemis asks him, appearing by his side.  They stand at the top of a sparkling glassbuilding, almost the same as ever. She walks among the mortals more than hedoes, she always has, and She’s dressed like one of them. Tight clothes and halfher head shaved, sparkling gems curling up the delicate shell of her ear. Shelooks like one of the teenagers that fill his concert stadiums.

He thinks of the way his chariot threatened to escape hisgrasp every morning, the oppressive heat of the sun beating down on him, theburns and the undercurrent of fear that one day he would lose his grip on thereins and plunge the world into darkness.

Apollo leans his head on his sister’s shoulder. The sunrises slower without him, but it rises just the same. “No. Not really.”

~

Hephaestus’s workshop has evolved with the times – from avolcano base to a modern lab, but always a workshop bursting with creation. Thecyclopes are still his best assistants.

Aphrodite steps over discarded parts and expertly walksaround frantic cyclopes carrying bubbling concoctions. Her dark hair is sweptup in a bun and she wears chunky glasses and a blood red pantsuit that almosthides the fact she’s the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. “I have aclient, try not to blow up the house. Again.”

“Yes dear,” he says, but doesn’t looks away from hissoldering. She hadn’t expected him too. His prosthetics are off and on thefloor besides him, and he’s seated on a too-tall chair to compensate for theloss of height.

She reaches out and carefully touches the corner of his eye.Crow’s feet have started to work their way onto his face. They’re getting old. “It’sthe couple that’s fighting because he wants kids and she doesn’t want to carryany kids but doesn’t want to say that. It would probably be easier if I justtold them to adopt and threw them out the window.”

“Yes dear,” he repeats, sparks flying. A few land on her,but she doesn’t burn. Of course.

She moves her hand up and pushes it through his hair andresists the urge to pull him from his work and abandon her own so they can makeout on his worktable. “I love you.”

Aphrodite turns to leave, but Hephaestus grabs her wrist andpulls her back. He holds up a single copper lily, the edges of the petals stillglowing with heat it had taken to shape them. He carefully slides the stem intoher hair so it sits at the base of her bun. He grazes her bottom lip with histhumb as he pulls his hand back to his side. “Yes dear.”

~

Demeter rages.

She makes imprudent deals to control an earth that no longerfalls under her domain, and she enacts her revenge against the mortals inwhatever way she can. They have forgotten her, forgotten the earth, and intheir ignorance they seek to destroy it.

She shakes the bedrock and splits it open, but still they donot learn, and as the temperature of the earth rises so does her temper.

The sea is not hers to command, her power is of earth and ofearth alone, and even now she gave more than could afford to lose to keep hergrasp on it. But these mortals do not learn.

Demeter goes to the sea and makes an inadvisable bargain. Shegoes to the crumbling remains of Olympus and makes an even worse one.

Typhoons and hurricanes whip across the land. If they seekto destroy her, she will simply destroy them first.

~

Hera sits on a pure white couch in an elegant mansion,smiling for the journalist seated across from her.

“What do you think is the most influential decision you evermade?” he asks, “If you could pinpoint the success of your business to onemoment, what would it be?”

She tilts her head as the light of the camera flashes. “Why,divorcing my husband, of course.”

“Would that be your advice to young women hoping to be as successfulas you?” he asks, “To not get married?”

Hera thinks of thousands of years by Zeus’s side, and howlittle it got her. She thinks of Hestia’s men, and Artemis’s women, of Hephaestus’slove for Aphrodite, of the way Hades softened the sharpest of Persephone’s edges.

She says, “Do not get married to someone who makes you lessthan you are. If you are not a better person for being together than apart,then do not be together. It’s as simple as that.”

Simple, but not easy.

Leaving Zeus was the hardest thing she’s ever done.

~

Persephone isn’t forced to spend half the year on the mortalearth anymore. She goes when she pleases, which isn’t often.

Sometimes she’ll sit by Artemis’s side while she brings anew life into the world and holds the warm, wriggly child first. She visitshospitals and makes the flowers bloom out of season, and spends long hourssitting under the sun and feeling it’s warmth touch her face.

Hades left his realm rarely before, and even more rarelynow. More people are being born than ever, meaning more people are dying thanever. Their realm is massive, comprising of all the dead of several millennia.Hades and Hecate spend their days as always – desperately trying to expand therealm so that they don’t all have to live on top of each other.

“Have you heard?” she asks one day, seated on his desk andleaning across it so he can’t work on the latest draft for another level oftheir realm. “The gods are dead.”

He gives up on attempting to tug it out from underneath her.“Are they? That’s odd, none of them are here.”

Persephone doesn’t bother to hide her smile. They haven’tfigured it out yet. Maybe they never will. But when death comes for them, asdeath does for all, it will be to Hades and Persephone’s door they are brought.Hades himself will usher Gaia and Amphitrite into the underworld, when the timecomes.

That time is not today.

“Darling, I really do need to work on this,” heineffectually tugs on the map again.

She pushes him back into the chair, climbing on top of himand pressing their foreheads together. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” he agrees, and obligingly moves his head soPersephone can nibble at his neck. He manages a whole thirty seconds beforegoing, “I mean, I really do, Hecate said if I didn’t have a plan by the timeshe leaves for the mortal realm tomorrow, I’ll either have to wait until shegets back or do it by myself, and I’d really prefer to do neither–”

Persephone kisses him to shut him up, twisting and pushingthem through the realm so they land on their bed. “I’ll help you finish itlater. Focus on me now.”

Hades doesn’t answer, but he does flip them so he’s aboveher and reaches below her skirt, so she’ll take that as agreement.

~

Hestia sits around a bonfire, watching a group of teenagersget drunk and dance around the flames. They’ll never be younger than right now,never feel as much love for each other as they do right now.

She is besides an old man who warms his hands from the firecoming from an abandoned trash can.

She lies on a bed as a girl lights two dozen candles around itas a surprise for when her lover gets home.

She watches a young man make dinner for his boyfriend forthe first time and burn the chicken on both sides. They eat it together anyway.

She sits on the kitchen counter when a sister takes out apie from the oven, made special for her little brother’s birthday.

She is there when a father ticks the thermostat up high infreezing dawn of morning so it will be warm by the time his wife and children awaken.

Most people don’t have hearths anymore. But there is warmth,and love, and for Hestia that is enough.

~

As their names fade from existence, as his name is calledless and less on the battlefields of mortal men, the more Ares sleeps.

He falls asleep in too tall trees and on park benches. Hesleeps in seedy motel rooms and naps in every one of Athena’s libraries. Hesleeps curled up on a chair in Aphrodite’s office, and on the floors of a lotof veteran resource centers. As fast as he can tell, that’s the most they helpany veteran.

Still, his favorite place to sleep is the underworld.

He goes knocking on Orpheus’s door, who is always willing toplay for him. “Hades is here,” Eurydice says, “Would you like to me to go gethim?”

He shakes his head, “Persephone is home. I wouldn’t want tointrude.”

Eurydice and Orpheus share the same look of faint disapproval,but neither of the say anything, for which he is grateful.

He lies in the soft grass of the garden Persephone made, andlets Orpheus’s playing lull him to sleep.

Later, he’s woken by strong arms picking him up and holdinghim against a familiar chest. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know who’sholding him. “I can go,” he yawns, his actions at odds with his words as hepulls himself even closer the warmth coming off the king of the underworld.

“No,” Hades says. “Stay.”

Ares lets out a content sigh as Hades presses his lips tohis forehead, and he’s not great about touch, about people laying their handson him and getting in his space. But Hades has always felt safe, felt likehome.

He stays.

~

The gods are dead.

Long live the gods.

gods and monster series, part xiv

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Your Caeneus and Poseidon fics made me weep. Will you ever write about when Poseidon gives up the power of the sea and returns to Caeneus?

Part One / Part Two

They’ve all abandoned their duties, the world has changed and they’re not needed like they were needed before.

All but the three of them, the most powerful of gods.

Zeus stubbornly remains on the abandoned Mount Olympus. Even Hera has left him, shaking herself free of her shackles and her crown all at once.

Hades continues as he always has. It’s possible he wouldn’t have noticed anything had changed if it weren’t for Persephone’s new freedom that allows her to spend all months of the year with her husband.

Then there is him.

Poseidon sits on his thrown at the bottom of the sea, restless in a way he can’t remember ever feeling before. Amphitrite sighs from her place besides him, then stands to face him. “Perhaps it is time.”

“What are you talking about?” he snaps, although he knows the answer.

She smiles at him, soft and exasperated and even a little fond after all these years. “You knew it wasn’t forever. We both did.”

He presses a hand to his chest, and – he is of the sea, and he is not supposed to be feel fear. But he does. “I do not remember the man I was before I was King of the Sea.  If – if I return to that person, I do not know what I will be, who I will be.”

Amphitrite holds out her hands. Feeling like a child, Poseidon takes them. “I know exactly who you will be, and what you will do. It’s time, Poseidon.”

He’s never loved her, couldn’t love her. But she’s been his constant companion for almost his entire life, and he cares for her, as much as he is capable of caring for anyone. “What will happen to you?”

“That is none of you concern,” she says, “but I will be what I’ve always been – the sea.”

She uses a single claw and opens her chest, the inside of her a dark green except for a pulsating red heart. He sighs and breaks off a piece of his throne to do the same to his own chest. It’s not like he’ll need it after this.

He takes out the cold, dark lump from inside him and places it safely below her ribcage. Her skin heals over and pales, and the warmth of her eyes snuffs out. She slips the beating heart below his sternum, and his skin heals over just as quickly as hers had.

Poseidon didn’t know how cold he had been until he could feel warmth again, like a bonfire in his chest unfurling to fill him, warming the bottoms of his feet and tips of his fingers. The tidal wave of grief and love and happiness and sorrow nearly threatens to barrel him over, all the emotion he’d only felt echoes of now overwhelming him.

But even with all of that, he instantly knows something is wrong.

“This isn’t my heart,” he says, and it functions like his heart, these are his emotions and feelings, but – it’s not his heart, it’s not the heart he traded away to Amphitrite for power so long ago.

“No,” she agrees, “it’s not.”

She almost looks like she’s smiling.

He means to question her, to demand answers in spite of personally knowing how worthless it is to ask anything of the sea. But before he gets the chance, he’s being pushed away and onto the shore, and he knows better than to try and go back and attempt to get answers she doesn’t feel like giving. He doesn’t think she’d kill him, but he’s not interested in finding out.

He looks out at the impossibly tall structures before him, the glass city sprawling at the end of the beach when before there had only been a – been a – a cottage.

“Caeneus,” he breathes, and is gone in the next moment.

~

He knows the entrances to the underworld well, even as the world moves and changes they never have. It takes him no time at all to be standing by the River Styx with Charon in front of him. “You are not dead,” the boatman says reproachfully.

“No,” he says, “Summon Hades, I must speak to him. There’s someone in there who – someone I – someone,” he finishes, and it’s been thousands and thousands of years since he last has Caeneus in his arms, but it doesn’t matter. The heart in his chest is a heart that is capable of love, and he loves Caeneus just as he did as a fledgling god with dominion over nothing.

Charon has no face that he can see, but he still gets the impression he’s being laughed at. “The underworld contains many someones.”

“Call Hades,” he says, low and dangerous, and the waters of the Styx churn angrily at his temper. He may no longer be the king of the sea, but he is still a god of it, and a powerful one at that. Charon takes a step away from him, no longer laughing but also not moving to help him.

There’s a shift in the air, and a young woman stands before them. Her skin is as dark at the water of the river, and her eyes are the grey of its foam. “Who dares disturb my river?” the goddess Styx demands. He meets her gaze, and her mouth drops open. “Poseidon? What are you doing here?”

“That is not Poseidon,” Charon says, “He doesn’t feel like a king.”

He wants to slap himself. Charon is blind.

Styx raises an eyebrow, “Looks like he finally got with times. The king of the ocean is no more.” She circles him like a predator circles prey. “There’s something different about you.”

“Lady Styx,” he grits out, “Please. Summon my brother, I must speak with him. I’m looking for someone.”

She shakes her head, “I can’t. He and Hecate are expanding the realm today. They can’t be disturbed.”

He doesn’t care about his brother’s obsession with home improvement, but he doesn’t say that. “Persephone then.”

“The Lady is currently among the mortals,” Charon says.

He clenches his hands into fists. He knows it’s been thousands of years, and a little more time won’t make much of a difference. But he’s already lost so much time. He doesn’t want to lose any more.

Styx sighs as if she finds him troublesome. “Thanatos,” she calls out conversationally, “I need you.”

There’s another shift in the air, and a familiar figure appears in front of him. “What do you need?” the death god asks, ink on his hands and smudged across his forehead. “I’m busy.”

“Icarus,” he says. It’s hard to regret the actions he took with Amphitrite’s heart in his chest. He wanted, and so he took. Such is the nature of the sea. However, there many things he did then that he wouldn’t have done if he’d had his heart. Those years with Icarus are among them.

He’s never said no, never pushed him away or lashed out. But if Poseidon had had his heart, he would have known that it wasn’t what the young man wanted.

Icarus’s mouth drops open, but he shuts it again. “Poseidon,” he greets carefully. “Can we help you with something?”

“I’m looking for a mortal. His name is Caeneus, my magic should be clinging to him. He died – a long time ago, I’m assuming. I don’t know exactly when.”

Icarus’s eyes go distant as he reviews a mental list of the dead. He blinks, then slowly shakes his head. “There are many by the name of Caeneus in our realm, but none that are god-touched.”

He says, “That’s impossible. I transformed him myself. The magic would have clung to him, even in death.”

“Yes,” Icarus agrees. “But he is not among our realm, which means he’s not among the dead. This Caeneus of yours is still alive.”

“That’s impossible,” he repeats, but fainter this time. He presses a hand to his sternum, where a heart that isn’t his own beats.

Styx laughs and drapes herself over Charon, who tolerates it. “Poseidon, nothing is impossible.”

~

He goes to Aphrodite next. She’s dressed as a mortal, wearing glasses she doesn’t need and a dress too short for current mortal fashions. She’s curled up on a chair reading, and she slowly lowers her book to look at him. “So the rumors are true,” she says finally. There’s something like sympathy on her face. “They all said you were different once you became the god of the sea. None ever knew the reason was that you lost your heart.”

“Traded it, actually,” he says, “and we didn’t want you to know. That’s not why I’m here.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“I need your help,” he taps his chest, “This heart isn’t mine either. I need your help to find the man it belongs to.”

She closes her book and puts it aside, eyes sparking with interest. “Very well, Uncle. I will do my best.”

~

Aphrodite finds him. They arrive at a small house jutting out of the edge of a cliff, the sea wide and churning below. A man stands at the edge, subtly manipulating the waves with the push-pull motions of his hands. “I didn’t know you knew Glaucus,” she says. “What are you doing with his heart?”

Glaucus. A minor sea god who looked after lost fisherman. “His name is Caeneus,” he says, already walking away from her.

“Good luck!” she calls out before returning to her home and her book.

He walks over slowly, not sure what he’s expecting. Anger, certainly. Perhaps a fight. Maybe if he lets Caeneus beat him up, he’ll be more willing to listen to him. “Hey,” he says, when he’s only a few feet away, bracing himself for – something.

Caeneus stills, turning to face him. His eyes widen, and he takes a hesitant step closer. “Poseidon. Is it – is – do you have,” he pauses and reaches out a hand, pressing a hand against Poseidon’s chest. “What’s in here?”

“Your heart,” he croaks, and reaches out a trembling hand and pressing it to Caeneus’s sternum. “Just as my heart is here.”

“You can have it back,” he says, taking another step closer, and the sun reflects off of Caeneus’s eyes so they shine gold. “I was only keeping it safe for you.”

He reaches for his chest, but Poseidon grabs his hand. “Don’t. Without my heart, you’ll die.”

Caeneus smiles, “That’s all right. I’ve been waiting for you to come back for it, and now you’re here.” His smile dims, “Will you kiss me first? Is that all right?”

Poseidon pulls him closer and presses their foreheads together. Caeneus’s arms wrap around his waist, and something inside him settles. “I will not,” he whispers, and Caeneus tenses. “You must keep my heart, because it belongs to you. It always has.” He shifts to kiss his cheek, and he can smell the salt from Caeneus’s tears that are threatening to spill.  “I shouldn’t have traded it to Amphitrite. It wasn’t mine to give away.”

“Then you must keep mine,” he says, and he’s shaking, “because it has belonged to you for just as long.”

Poseidon kisses him then. Caeneus melts against him, and the first true sunburst of happiness blossoms in his chest.

This is the beginning of the rest of their lives.

gods and monsters series part xvi

read more of the gods and monsters series

( whispers quietly ) eros & psyche ?

Aphroditecan’t get comfortable during her pregnancy. She’s always too hot, constantlysweating whether she’s in the in the oppressive heat at the bottom of thevolcano, or in the icy air at the top of it. It makes no difference. No matterwhere she goes or what she does, she can’t find any relief. Hephaestus hoversover her, wringing his hands and leaning his head against her stomach. Herdistended skin is too warm to the touch, and both of them can’t help but worryabout their child that grows inside her.

Theybeg help from Artemis, who has no help to give them. “The child is healthy,”she tells them, mystified. “The mother is healthy, though pained. I can donothing for you because there is nothing to be done.”

Timepasses. The child is born. They call him Eros.

He burns.

~

Hewarms in Artemis’s hands as she cleans him and Aphrodite eagerly waits to behanded her son. Artemis cries out and has to put him down, blisters appearingon his hands. Aphrodite moves to pick him up, and she can stand his heat forlonger, but after a few minutes he leaves a welt of burnt flesh against herchest. Hephaestus tries next, and manages to hold his son for a whole quarterof an hour before his skin is eaten away.

Artemiscan do nothing. She insists there’s nothing wrong with him, it’s just how heis. Hephaestus crafts gloves of flexible metal so they can care for him – thebabe’s fire reacts to the warmth of another person. Clothes and objects remainunburned. They go to Hermes, to Apollo, to Hestia, and none can help them.Hestia tries to hold the child. She is the keeper of celestial fire, whichburns hotter than anything, yet she too comes away burned. “The celestial fireis of me, and so it cannot harm me,” she tells them regretfully, “Eros is not,and so he can.”

No onecan help them.

Eroscries, constantly unhappy because he longs to be held and rocked, longs for thewarmth of his parents but they can only give him snatches of affections, stolenmoments before he burns them and they must retreat behind cool metal.

Aphroditeis desperate. She sneaks away to Mount Olympus, goes against her husband’swishes and goes to Hera. She’s crying as she speaks, and Hera watches her withcool, impassive eyes. “There is nothing wrong with your son,” she says. “He isas he was made to be. If you cannot provide the care he needs, find someone whocan.”

Aphroditestares, betrayed. Hera has been kind to her in the past, was the one who helpedher choose her husband when all of Olympus sought her hand. Aphrodite is adaughter of Zeus, but not of another woman, and so Hera hadn’t hated her.

Heraloses some of her sternness. “I have given you the answer you need, if not theone you wanted. Return to you child and husband.”

Shegoes.

Shetells Hephaestus where she went, and instead of angry he becomes contemplative.

~

Ares isblood soaked and exhausted when his brother appears beside him in the middle ofa battlefield. “Hephaestus,” he greets, startled, “Is something wrong?”

“I needyour help,” says the man who had never once asked him for anything, “I know ithurts to leave, but–”

Aresshakes his head, “There will always be another war. What do you need?”

~

He canwield the lightning bolts of Zeus and he takes bathes in lava to soothe theache of his muscles. Ares is not bothered by heat or flame because it passesthrough him, he manages to do these things because he absorbs their heatinstead of being harmed by it.

He’s inhis brother’s bed, holding his nephew, and Eros gives him a gap-toothed littlegrin from where he’s splaying out against his chest, skin against skin. “Cutekid,” he yawns. Hephaestus is on one side of him, and Aphrodite on the other.

Aresleeches most of the heat from Eros, so he’s cool enough to touch, so hisparents can pat his back and kiss his forehead. “Thank you,” Hephaestus says,finally able to touch his son without consequence.

“Anytime,”Ares says, eyes sliding shut.

Withhis brother’s family curled around him, Ares finds enough calm to sleep.

~

WhenEros is older, he learns to control it. He always runs hot, but by the timehe’s gotten big enough that the cyclopses are constantly chasing him in fear ofhim getting into something he shouldn’t, he’s learned to regulate histemperature to the point he doesn’t burn anyone any more.

Or atleast, he doesn’t burn any gods anymore. No matter how hard he tries, he’s toohot for any mortal to touch unharmed.

Beforethat, Ares spends every moment away from the battlefield with Eros that he can.He’s not always able to sleep, but he lies down with Eros on top him and withAphrodite and Hephaestus on either side.

Rumorsrun rampant, like they always do. People say Eros is the product of a unionbetween Ares and Aphrodite, they say that Aphrodite has been cheating on herhusband since the moment they married.

“I’msorry,” Ares says, face pinched.

Hephaestussmiles, and Ares relaxes. “You are only doing what I’ve asked of you. There’snothing to apologize for.”

Arescan’t help but feel guilty anyway.

~

Erosgrows, from a toddler to a man. He burns, a wide laughing mouth and eyes likethe sun. When he’s declared the god of passion, no one is surprised.

He hasthe best features of both his parents, and is devastatingly beautiful, with aface that Helen herself would weep over. He is the son of the goddess of loveand the god of craftsmanship, and passion is necessary for both.

Passionis many things. There is passion in love, and he goads many a shy couple into adesperate embrace. There is passion in war, and when the battlefield growsstilted and tired he joins his favorite uncle there and brings their energy tothe fore. There is passion in academia, and Eros encourages many scholars whospend long nights seeking answers they may never find. There is passion in art,and he blesses uninspired artists to create their heart’s desire.

Passionis a quickening heartbeat, a want that must be sated, a determination to followthrough. It is burning until you are nothing more than ash simplybecause the fire is too beautiful to put out.

Eros isa favorite among the gods, because so much of what he does benefits them. Hequickens the pulse of a people, and they use that energy to do great deeds inthe gods’ names.

He isbeautiful and powerful and loved. He wants for nothing, until –

- untilhis mother sends him to help a village girl who has been praying to her formonths.

Erossees Psyche, and instantly knows the weight of love in his chest.

~

Psycheis beautiful.

Sheknows this, it is the one thing about herself that she knows. All her lifepeople tell her this, when she’s a babbling baby and a little girl and a fullygrown woman, it’s what people say to her.

Mencome to her seeking her hand, crossing borders and monsters to end up at herdoor. “I have no dowry,” she tells them, “I cannot cook, I am a poorseamstress, I have never cleaned a home.”

“I donot care,” they all tell her, with their greedy eyes and their greedy hands,“You are beautiful.”

Hermother and aunts shooed her from the kitchen as a child, saying the steam wouldruin her pretty hair, wouldn’t let her sew because the needles would harden hersoft hands, didn’t want her to spend hours cleaning because the she was toolovely to mar with common dirt.

Otherchildren wouldn’t play with her, including her sisters, and soon she ran fromall her tutors whose gazes made her shoulders itch. The first time someone laystribute at her feet, like she is some sort of goddess and not a simple villagegirl, she runs away and locks herself in her room.  

Thetributes and prayers don’t stop, and she hates them. She only wants to be likeeveryone else, wants to read and cook and have friends. Every night she bundlesup the gifts and tributes people give her sneaks away to the temple ofAphrodite. She lays these things where they belong, with the goddess of beautyand love. “Please,” she begs, every night, “please make it all stop, reveredgoddess. I can’t live this way.”

Shedoes this, for years and years, but her prayers are never answered. She sinkslower and lower, feeling confined to her home like a prisoner since she can’tleave it without flowers being thrown at her feet or someone remarking on herfigure and face. Her sisters will not speak to her, and her parents will notlisten to her. She eats less and spends days languishing in bed, growing weakerand more tired by the day.

Oneday, after turning away yet another suitor and being turned away yet again when she tries to help her mother inthe kitchen, she goes far out of the village, where no will find her, where noone will be able to remark on the beauty of her corpse.

Shewalks to the edge of a cliff, and takes a deep breath. “Lady Aphrodite,” shewhispers, “let me be ugly in my next life.”

Shejumps.

~

Erossees her falling, and bids Zephyr to save her. She is caught gently by thewind. However, she’s so weak and malnourished that the shock of not falling toher death causes her to pass into unconsciousness. He wishes he could have saveher himself, that he could take her in his arms now and cradler her close tohis chest.

But heburns.

If hetouched her, he would harm her, so he will not.

“Takeher to my home,” he says, conflicted because he has no interest in growing intoeither Zeus or Poseidon. But he cannot touch her, so it’s not the same. “I’llbe along shortly.”

Zephyrcarries her away, far into the distance.

This isnot what his mother intended when she sent him here, but he can’t leave Psycheamong the mortals. If she tried to kill herself once, she’ll do it again, andthen where will he be?

Erosfeels heavy with love, and he does not know this girl, he does not know howthis is possible unless it has been arranged by the Fates. Psyche is a beautifulgirl, but he is a god. He is the son of the goddess of beauty and every othergoddess he knows is comparable in the grace of their form and face. Beautifulmortals do not tempt him.

He hasother things to attend to, so he puts aside the problem of Psyche so he can goconvince a young noble lady to kiss the baker’s daughter.

~

Psychewakes up, which she wasn’t expecting. What’s more, she’s not in pain. She’sbeing carefully deposited on soft grass by a being she can’t see. “Where am I?”she cries. She doesn’t think this is the afterlife. She’s on top of a largemountain, and a large, gorgeous home with marble columns sits on the edge.

Thereis an edge. She can still jump. She takes one hesitant step closer when astrong gust of wind pushes her back and something like a voice says, This is the home of a god, do not desecrate thisplace with your blood.

“Okay,”she says, a mixture of relief and fear clogging her throat, “Can I – can I goinside? It’s cold out here.”

Thewind pushes her towards the home, so she takes that as permission.

It’sall marble and gold and fur, perfectly decorated and with many rooms andinteresting things. But Psyche finds the bedroom, and in between the longjourney outside of her village and the adrenaline of being caught by the windand brought here, she’s exhausted. She climbs onto the soft bed withoutthinking, and is asleep the moment her head touches the pillow.

~

Themoon is high in the sky by the time Eros returns home. He steps inside, anddoesn’t light any of the torches out of fear of startling the girl. He findsher in his own bedroom, and only has a moment to stare at her silhouetteagainst his white blankets before she’s stirring, pushing herself up lookingaround the room. Her eyes aren’t as good as his, so she can’t even see theoutlines of objects. To her, it is complete darkness. “Who’s there?” shedemands, voice scratchy from sleep, “What do you want?”

“I am afriend,” he says, not saying his name. He knows the impression mortals have ofhim, and the last thing she needs to hear is that he’s the god of passion whileshe lies helpless before him in his bed. “The wind brought you here because youthrew yourself from the cliff face. Why would you do that?”

Shesits up and pulls her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to talk to about it.”

He sighs,but doesn’t push. “I’m not here to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Whatare you here to do?” she asks, “Why am I here?”

Shesounds sad, and scared, and he wishes he could touch her. He wishes he couldtake her hands and kiss her forehead, but he can’t, not without hurting her. “Ithink it would be best if you stayed with me, for a while. Until you no longerfind cliffs so tempting. I have a beautiful home, and am often gone whileattending to my duties, so feel free to make full use of it.”

“Whatdo you get out of it?” she demands.

Hesmiles, wry, and knows she cannot see it. “I suppose I could use a housekeeper.”

Hemeant it as a joke, but she perks up at the words. “A housekeeper? Really?”

“If youlike,” he says, although there are nature sprites who tend to his home for himif necessary. “I apologize, we’ve been speaking in the dark this whole time. I’lllight the lanterns.”

Hemoves to do so, a flicker of flame already appearing on his fingertips when shescreams, “NO! DON’T!”

Erosfreezes. “Psyche?”

“Youcan’t look at me,” she says desperately, “Please. Not – not ever. If you sawme, you wouldn’t be so nice to me. I – I want you to be nice to me. Don’t lightthe lanterns.”

“Never?”he asks, and he’s already seen her from afar, he knows what she looks like. Butit sounds as if she’s seconds away from away from crying, and it seems like itwould only be a cruelty to tell her this now.

“Never,”she says, “please. Please.”

Stayingaway from home during the day is a small thing, what with his parent’s volcanoalways open to him, and he can see well enough in the darkness that he’s not inany danger of tripping over his own feet. “Very well, Psyche. If that’s whatyou want. We will only meet in darkness, and I shall never see your face.”

~

Psychetakes his offhand comment about housekeeping seriously. She’s never cleanedbefore, but she’s seen it done, it’s simple if not easy. The first time herhands blister and crack she can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. Shespends her days cleaning, and at first that takes up all her time. She’sunpracticed, and slow, and she falls into the same bed utterly exhausted. Itleaves her no time to dwell on the life she left behind, or the hollow achebelow her breastbone.

It’shard work, and it leaves her ravenous. Before, she ate almost nothing and sleptmost of the day away. She doesn’t do that here, can’t, has more of an appetitethan she’s had since she was a child. Nymphs bring food to the home, fruits andvegetables, bread and cheese and meat. At first she makes only simple meals,but as the cleaning takes less and less time she finds herself trying morethings. Cooking is harder to get the hang of than cleaning.

Herfriend comes to her at night, slipping into her room. She always knows when he’sthere, even if she’s deep in sleep, and will wake up to speak to him. Psychenever leaves the bed, and he never comes from across the room. She sits up andlistens to his voice, of the people he saw and things he did. She tells him thesame, even though at first she thinks he does not care. But he does, because heasks her questions and compliments her on polishing the floors until theyshine. One night after a particularly bad failure, the first thing he does isask, “Did you try and burn down my kitchen, Psyche?”

He’slaughing, so she throws a pillow at him, and is satisfied by the dull thud ofit hitting true and his laughter growing louder. “If I had tried I would have succeeded, and you would have come hometo an ash pile.”

“Then I’mpleased by your restraint,” he says, and she scowls at him even though he can’tsee it. “What was that horrible smell supposed to me?”

“Lamb,”she says, sighing. “I don’t think I’m a very good cook.”

“Perhapsnot. Why don’t you try doing something else? What else do you enjoy?” he asks.

Shesits cross legged on the bed and frowns. “I don’t know,” she says finally, “I’ma poor artist and a worse singer. I have no eye for needlework. I like knowingthings, but I’m not a fan of learning. I – I like cleaning. I like using myhands.”

“Focus onwhat you like. Try to do some things with your hands. The garden could use somelooking after,” he suggests.

“I dohave to eat,” she points out, “I might as well learn to cook.”

Hesnorts. “Spare both yourself and my kitchen. Don’t worry about that. Worryabout the mint that’s taking over the rose bushes.”

Shedoesn’t know what he means until she gets up the next morning and finds a day’sworth of food waiting for her, already made and much tastier than anything she’smanaged. Next to it is a book on gardening.

This,she has a knack for. It is a god’s garden, so it has always been beautiful, butunder her hands it becomes even more so, flourishing and vibrant under her attentions.She plants flowers that bloom and glow at night, so that her friend may walkthrough the garden and be greeted by something that doesn’t slumber.

Herhands are calloused and hard, and dirt gets stuck under fingernails. Her hairis a sweaty mess and breaking at the ends, and her skin is tanned in patches,her arms and the back of neck darker than her stomach and thighs. Freckles popup in unexpected places, on her wrists and shoulders, a single one slightly offcenter of her sternum.

She hasnever felt more beautiful.

Psycheis stronger now, food and hard work having thickened her waist and brightenedher eyes. She does not fall asleep exhausted each night, but instead sits upwaiting for her friend to visit her, eagerly listening to his adventures of theday and telling him of all the things she did, of the new plants she’s tryingto grow and how the shrubbery is stubbornly growing in uneven heightd.

“Myhands are all rough,” she tells him one night, like it’s a secret.

Hedoesn’t understand. “Have you tried rubbing olive oil in them?”

Shelaughs, and gets to her feet, confident she knows the room well enough that shewon’t stumble or fall and walking towards his voice. “No, it’s a good thing, it’snever happened before. See?”

Shereaches out and he shouts, “No! Don’t touch me–”

It’stoo late, her hand has already blindly grabbed onto his arm. She lets go, “I’msorry! I didn’t know–”

“Wehave to get you to Hermes, before the burns get too bad,” he says urgently.

Now she’sthe one who doesn’t understand. “What burns?”

He quiets.“You’re not hurt?”

Sheflexes her hand, mystified. “No. Should I be?”

“I –everyone else always was,” he says.

“I’mnot everyone else,” she says confidently, and takes another step closer. Shegrabs onto his arm again, fumbling until she can hold his hand in hers. Heflinches, but doesn’t pull away from her. “See, I’m fine.”

Carefully,and oh so slowly, he curls an arm around her waist and pulls her forward untilshe’s flush against his chest and full lips press against her forehead. “I’m –I’m glad.”

He’snot just talking about her not being burned. She feels such a surge ofaffection for him in this moment, and being held in his arms she realizessomething. She loves him, this man she’s never seen and doesn’t truly know. He’skind and funny and has given her back a life she hadn’t known she’d lost. He’snever touched her or coveted her, and even now in his arms there’s nothing lecherousor uncomfortable about his touch.

Thatmight change, if he saw her. If he knew how she looked, he might forget aboutthe rest of her, and to lose his affection and regard now would kill her assurely as that fall from the cliff would have.

But hedoes not need to see her to touch her.

Sheshifts enough so that he raises his head, and gathers her courage. She pressestheir lips together, lightly at first, then less lightly when he returns it. “Cometo bed,” she says, when they part, dizzy with emotions she’s never had before.

“Areyou sure?” he asks, voice rough.

She’snever been more sure of anything in her life.

“Yes.”

~

That’sher life now, her days filled with cleaning and gardening and her nights withher friend, her now lover. He’s never told her his name, and she doesn’t wantto ask. He doesn’t see her and she doesn’t know his name. It seems better thatway, more fair. She falls asleep in his arms every night, and he’s gone by thetime she wakes, gone before the first ray of sunlight creeps through thewindow.

Heloves her. It’s obvious, so incredibly obvious that she’s ashamed she didn’tnotice before. He let her sleep in his bed even before they were sleepingtogether, gave over his home to her and requested nothing in return, listens toher and laughs with her. He loves her, and she loves him, and it’s time shetrusted him.

She’swide awake when he comes to her, greeting her with a kiss. He notices herstiffness and pulls back. “Is something wrong?”

“Ithink it’s time you saw my face,” she’s shaking, and she can’t stop it. Sheloves him and is terrified his love for her will change when he sees her.

Shesits up in bed, and he kneels in front of her on the floor, holding her handsin his. “Psyche, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

She shakesher head, “No. I love you, and – and we should be together in the light of day,our love is too big to fit in this room anymore.”

Hekisses her wrist and says, “Whatever you like.”

Howwill she live without this love? Hopefully she won’t have to find out. Shereaches for a lantern and sets it in her lap, lighting it with careful fingers.A soft glow fills the room, and she squeezes her eyes shut, waiting.

Afinger touches a spot on her sternum, then her shoulders, her neck, her cheeks,then the tip of her nose. “You have freckles,” he says, “I like them.”

Sheopens her eyes. Her lover is smiling at her, and he’s gorgeous, every bit aspretty as she is with dark eyes and even darker skin. Most importantly, he’s lookingat her like a person, with love and affection. Not with something blank andothering like so many people have looked at her before, not like she’s anobject or an art piece.

Thetidal wave of relief is so great that she’s weak with it. She realizes hermistake a second later when the lantern slips out of her hands, spilling hotoil.

Herlover reacts faster than any mortal man could, pushing her out of the way andcatching the lantern at an awkward angle, so most of the burning oil spillsdown his arms and chest. “No!” Psyche cries.

Helooks down at his blistering skin with fascination, “That’s never happenedbefore.” He winces, and clenches his hands as the burns spread along his body,as his skin cracks and bleeds.

“Liedown!” Psyche cries, grabbing the sheets and trying to mop up the oil, tryingto stop it from spreading. “What were you thinking? You should have let it fallon me!”

It’sburning more than hot oil should, and she’s sobbing as tries to stop it. “Don’tbe ridiculous,” he says, voice slurring as his eyes slide shut. “I would neverlet anything hurt you.”

“No!”she grabs his shoulders and shakes him, “Wake up! You have to wake up!”

Hedoesn’t respond. Psyche thinks back, frantic, to when he thought he had burnedher when they first touched, to the person he said they needed. “HERMES!” shescreams, “HERMES! A GOD NEEDS YOU!”

There’sa flash of light, and the messenger god of healing and is in front of them. “Eros,”he says, dropping down beside him and not looking at Psyche at all. “Whathappened to you?”

Hetouches his chest, and then they’re both gone.

Psycheis left alone crying next to an oil soaked sheet.

~

Hermestakes Eros to his parents, both of whom drop everything to come to his side. “Whathappened?” Hephaestus demands.

Hermesconcentrates on containing the burns before they can spread any further. He canworry about healing them alter. “He dropped oil on himself.”

“He’s agod,” Aphrodite snaps, “no oil can harm him. Even if it could, it wouldn’t beable to do this.”

Hermesshoots them both a grin, “It seems like your boy’s fallen in love. Only truelove could cool him enough to burn him, only true love could hurt him likethis.”

It’s atthat moment that Eros gasps awake. He reaches out, and Aphrodite takes hishand. “Mom,” he says, eye wide, “please, go to my house, there’s a girl there–”

“Didshe do this to you?” she asks dangerously.

“It wasan accident. I pushed her out of the way, I didn’t know I would burn,” he moansin pain, then grits his teeth against it. “Mom, please. Please go to her.”

Shelooks to Hermes, who’s busy mixing a salve. He doesn’t look up at her as hesays, “Your son will be fine. I’ll take care of the burns.”

Hephaestusmeets her gaze and gives a sharp nod. “Go, I’ll stay with him.”

Aphroditedoesn’t want to leave him, but gives in and does as her son asks of her.

~

Sheshows up just in time to stop the mortal girl from hurling herself from themountain side. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snaps, and takes a momentto register that it’s the village girl she sent Eros to help so long ago. Thiswasn’t what she’d had in mind.

Her redeyes and tear soaked face does more to sooth Aphrodite’s temper than anyexcuses she could have given. “He’s dead,” she sobs, “I love him, and he’sgone, and there’s no reason for me to live any longer. Please, let me die.”

Aphroditesees the glow of love on her, and knows the girl’s affection for her son istrue. “He is not dead,” she hesitates and adds, “yet.”

Truelove has started wars and left all involved nothing but dust and regret. Herson deserved more than that. A love must not only be true – it must be pure.

“If youwish for him to live, you must help me,” she says.

Psycheprostrates herself before her, “Anything! I’ll do anything!”

Aphroditemoves them to warehouse full of mixed grains. “You must sort these before dawn.Barley is necessary for a poultice that will heal my son. Hurry.”

~

Psychelooks at all of them and despairs. But her lover needs her. Eros needs her.

Shegets to work.

Thenight is halfway gone and she’s not even a tenth of the way complete. There’sno hope, her love will die, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. Shegives in, and is sobbing in the middle of the warehouse when she feels a ticklingsensation on her hand. She looks down to see a small ant. “Why are you crying?”the ant asks.

“I needto sort all these grains, and I cannot do it,” she says, sniffling. “My loverneeds the barely to heal.”

The antconsiders this. “I will help you,” it declares, “and in return you must allowme to take all the beans from this store.”

“Theyare not mine to give,” Psyche says regretfully, “so I cannot accept your help.”

“Thenyour lover will die,” the ant says callously, and leaves.

Shelooks at the unsorted pile of grains. Not if she can help it.

Psycheshoves up her sleeves and gets back to work.

~

Aphroditeshows up, and Psyche is still working. She’s gotten through three quarters ofthe grains, and Aphrodite is impressed. She did not think she would manage toget through even half. The girl clearly hasn’t slept, and even now doesn’tpause in her work. “Lady,” she says, “I’m not done yet.”

“Thatis enough,” Aphrodite says, looking at the sizable pile of barley. She producesa glass bottle and puts it in front of her. “To stave of death while we makethe poultice, we need water from the river Styx. There is a spout on top of myson’s mountain. You must collect this water and return it to me.”

Psyche’sshoulder’s slump, but she doesn’t hesitate when she takes the glass bottle. “Iwill do it.”

~

Psychecalls for the wind, begging it to take her to the top of the mountain. If the lady wishes, it says. She’slifted into the air, and brought there. She’s freezing, and it’s hard to breathin the cold air. Dragons sit on either side of the spout, snapping their jawsat her. “Please!” she calls out, “I need the water of the river Styx! I act inthe name of Aphrodite.”

Theyhiss and spit fire at her, and she clings to the side, trying to avoid theflames. “We are not commanded by the Lady Aphrodite,” a child’s voice says, andPsyche looks up to see a girl with black skin and grey hair looking down at herfrom the back of one of the dragons.

“Please,”Psyche says, “Lady Styx, grant me some of your river. Eros need it to live.”

Styxfrowns, and says, “This is not a water which brings life.”

“Please,”she repeats, “I swear no harm will be done in your name, I swear my intentionsare honest.”

Thechild goddess sighs and says, “Come and get it then. If my dragons’ flames passthrough you, then you speak the truth, and may have some of my river. If youlie, then I shall see you again in the underworld.”

Psychenods and walks forward, not breaking eye contact with the child goddess. Thedragons screech and flame roars towards her and then – it goes through her. Shereaches the top of the mountain safely. She holds out the glass bottle.

Styxlaughs and fill it for her. “Happy travels,” she says, right before pushing heroff the mountain. Zephyr catches her halfway down, and it takes several secondsfor Psyche to stop screaming.

Zephyrdeposits her back on the ground, and Aphrodite appears before her. Psyche handsover the bottle.

Aphroditeundoes it and pours the water out, and the grass dies wherever it falls. “It’stoo late,” she says, and Psyche’s heart is in her throat, “the only thing leftto do is to go to Persephone and beg a spark of life from her.” She slashes herhand down, and opening into the underworld appears. “Persephone will not grantany request of mine. You must go.”

Shebarely finished speaking when Psyche throws herself through the portal.

~

Aphroditestares at the place where the girl stood, stunned. Hermes appears beside her. “Yourson is well and only sleeps,” he says, “Isn’t this a bit unnecessary?”

“My sonhas a heart that will never stray. She must prove herself worthy of it,”Aphrodite answers.

Hermesstares, “You will petition Zeus for her?”

“If sheproves herself worthy,” she says, then looks at the place where she poured outthe incalculably dangerous water of the river Styx. “She’s doing quite well, sofar.”

~

Psychestumbles as she goes through the portal and falls on her knees. This ends upbeing rather lucky, as it’s taken her to the throne room of the palace of theunderworld. Not only is Persephone there, but so is Hades and a god she thinksmight be Thanatos. Both Persephone and Thanatos throw Hades narrow eyed looks,which he ignores. “Miss Psyche,” he says, “we’ve been expecting you.”

“Havewe,” Persephone says dryly.

Psycheshuffles forward until she’s kneeling in front of Persephone and presses herforehead to the cool obsidian floor. “Lady Goddess,” she says, “I beg a sparkof life from you.”

Persephonerises from her throne, and circles her with slow measured steps, her face blankand cold. “I’ve seen you garden,” she says finally, “you have quite a talentwith plants.”

“Thankyou, Lady,” she says.

Persephonecrouches and grabs her chin, jerking up her chin to get a good look at her. “Well,aren’t you a pretty little thing,” she murmurs. “I will give you a spark oflife. In return, you must give me your beauty.”

“Takeit,” Psyche begs, elated the price is so small, “I don’t want it, I’ve neverwanted it. All I want is Eros.”

Hercoldness melts away, and the goddess of life and death shakes her head, a smallsmile curled around the corner of her lips. “He chose well,” she says.

Psychedoesn’t understand until there’s another rip in the air, and her lover stepsthrough. He looks healthy, alive and well. “Eros!” she cries, forgetting herplace and standing in the presence of the king and queen of the dead. Beforeshe can kneel once more, Eros runs to her and picks her up in his arms, raisingher into the air and spinning her.

“I wasso worried about you,” he says, kissing her, then kissing her tears away.

“I thoughtyou were dying!” she says, running her hands over his chest and shoulders andnearly falling in relief when the skin there is whole and unburned.

Hewinces and kisses her once more, “My mother – I asked her to help you, not testyou. I’m sorry.”

“Youshould be grateful,” Hades says, and they both turn to face him. “Psyche hasproven herself, and Aphrodite intends to contest Zeus so that she may stay byyour side for eternity.” He smiles, “If Aphrodite is unsuccessful, come to me.I will do what I can.”

Theyboth bow to him, and then are gone in the next moment.

~

Aphroditegoes to Hephaestus, “You are his son, Zeus would want the request to come fromyou.”

“Youare his daughter,” he shoots back, even as he paces.

She sighs,“I was born of his blood and sea foam. It is not the same, and you know it.”

Hephaestusgives a grudging nod. Neither of them are favorites among Olympus, so he goesto someone who is.

Areslooks at him consideringly. “You should ask Mom yourself. Father will do as shesays.”  

“Herahates me,” Hephaestus snaps. “She will reject my son’s request if I’m the oneto present it.”

Ares grabsthe back of his brother’s neck, pulling them together until their foreheadstouch. Some tension gradually bleeds out of Hephaestus. “Try, for me,” Aressays. “If she denies you, I will ask her, and she will not deny me.”

Hephaestusgoes to Mount Olympus when Zeus is gone and kneels before Hera. He looks up,and can’t help but think that Ares is right – they have her eyes. Eros has hereyes too. “My son has fallen in love with a mortal girl whom he wishes to marry.I petition you to allow her to become immortal.”

He’sbraced for anything, shoulders hunched. Her laughter, her scorn, for her tothrow him from Mount Olympus like she did when he was freshly born. “Would thismake you happy?” she asks.

Heblinks, mouth open. Is this some other cruel trick, to force him to admit it’s somethinghe wants only so she can take greater pleasure in denying him? “Yes,” he says,because it’s true. It will make Eros happy, and when his son is happy, he ishappy.

“Verywell,” Hera says coolly. “We will have the wedding on Mount Olympus, and oncethey exchange vows she will become like us.”

Hestares, frozen in shock. He didn’t expect it to be that easy. He’s never heardof anyone requesting anything from Hera and just getting it besides Ares.

“Wasthere anything else?” she asks.

Hephaestus shakes his head, “No, my queen. Thank you.”

He’s gone before she has a chance to respond, before she has a chanceto change her mind.

~

Eros and Psyche’s marriage is the event of the century. Gods greatand small show up for it, even Hades is convinced to leave his realm to attend.

They pledge their lives to each other, and Hera officiates as thegoddess of marriage. Once they swear their loyalty to one another, she takes asmall square of ambrosia and hand feeds it to Psyche. She swallows it in twobites, and when she’s finished she glows with her new status as an immortal.

Eros grabs Psyche and dips her.

When he kisses her, the gods’ cheering is loud enough that itcauses thunder storms all across earth.

gods and monsters series, part xix

read more of the gods and monsters series here

wow your writing in the gods and monsters series is amazing! i've always loved greek myths and you bring them to life and add a different twist that makes it better than anything i've ever read about mythology!! if you have time, could you do a continuation of the Hades and Kore story? Kore/Persephone is one of my fav goddesses and i can't wait to see where you take her story!

(continuation of: x, x)

The first time Kore throws herself into the River Styx, sheis reckless and stubborn and feels like she has so little left to lose, only anoverbearing mother she yearns to escape.

The first time Kore throws herself into the River Styx, shefights and swims and survives. She is picked up on the shore and carried tosafety in Hades’s arms.

The second time Kore throws herself into the River Styx, sheis reckless and stubborn and feels like she has everything to lose. She letsthe water take her, and she drowns.

The second time Kore throws herself into the River Styx, itkills her.

~

Kore wakes up after falling unconscious while being carriedby the King of the Underworld. Her skin is fully healed, no longer blisteringand burning. She’s naked under the soft blankets, but she was naked when shedove into the river, so she’s not too worried about it.

“I didn’t know you were a goddess,” someone says, and sheturns her head to see a little girl sitting by her bedside with black skin andgrey eyes and hair. She’s glaring at her, “I wouldn’t have tried to kill you ifI’d known. You shouldn’t touch my water – it’s not good for you. It will killyou. It does not care what you are.”

“It did not kill Achilles,” Kore says, pushing herself up sothe blanket falls to her waist.

The young Lady Styx huffs and gets to her feet, pushing openthe long wardrobe on the other side of the room. “It did, actually. What myriver takes, it keeps.” Kore raises an eyebrow. Styx doesn’t explain further,only places a dark blue gown on the bed. “Hecate put some of her old things inhere for you. She’s taller and thinner than you are. But you are a goddess. Youcan make it work.”

“I can,” Kore agrees, amused. She pushes herself out of bed,and her hair falls into her face.

Her hair has been a dark brown her whole life.

She strides over to the wardrobe and pulls it open, starringat herself in the mirror.

Her hair has turned pure, snowy white. The hair on her headof course, but the rest of it too. Her eyebrows, the light hair on her arms andlegs, going down her navel, the hair between her legs – all of it white.

“You’re lucky nothing worse happened,” Styx scolds. “Myriver usually does much worse than that.”

Kore touches one of her new, pale eyebrows. “That is anexcellent point, Lady Styx.”

With some clever magic, Kore pulls on the now perfectlyfitting gown. Hecate doesn’t tend to bother with them, only dresses up ifthere’s some sort of celebration that requires her attendance – something thathasn’t happened in a long time, ever since she irritated Zeus and Poseidon tothe point that they called for her head on a spike. The gown is old, even bytheir standards, but its beautifully crafted, stars plucked from the heavensand sewn into the bodice, waves from the seven seas curling around the longskirt. “This is very valuable,” she says, “Is Hecate sure she would like me tohave it?”

Styx shrugs, “She said it was a young woman’s dress, andhowever she may look, she’s not a young woman any more. It’s my favorite dressof hers – I was quite cross that she gave it to you, but I did almost kill you.So I suppose that’s fair enough.”

“Ah,” Kore says, not quite sure how to respond to that. “Isee.”

Styx grins at her and grabs her hand. The child goddess’sskin is freezing to the touch, but Kore doesn’t flinch back out of fear ofbeing rude. “Come with me now. Hades wants to see you.”

The girl leads her through the twisting hallways to apolished wooden door. It’s not the throne room, where Kore thought that thegirl would take her. She’s seen the grand inner chambers of Poseidon and Zeus’shomes before, of the lesser gods even, and Kore braces herself for somethingjust as grandiose and intimidating.

Styx opens the door and pushes her inside before vanishing.

Kore blinks and looks around.

The room is smaller than she expected. It’s lined withshelves packed with scrolls, and mounted on the opposite wall is large mapthat’s constantly shifting and changing, and it take her almost a full minuteof looking at it to realize it’s a map of the underworld.

“You’re looking better.”

Kore’s eyes snap down, and it’s only then that she noticesthe figure of Hades, King of the Underworld, hunched over his desk. His hairpulled in messy low ponytail, and there are dark bags under his eyes. He’s in asimple black chiffon, one no more presumptuous than any mortal noble wouldwear. He’s the most unassuming, unremarkable thing in already unassuming,unremarkable room.

Suddenly, she feels over-dressed.

“Thank you,” she says, not knowing what else to say. Shefeels – awkward, almost, in front of him, which isn’t something she’s ever feltwith anyone. She wants to climb into his lap and rest her head against hisshoulder. She wants to force him into some proper clothes for a king. She wantsto put him to bed and make him sleep until he loses those bruises under hiseyes.

She’s never wanted to do any of those things for anyonebefore. She doesn’t even know him.

Although – she knows he came for her. That he found an intruderinto his realm and picked her up and soothed her, carried her to safety andwashed her of the corrosive water of the Styx. He placed her in his palace anddid not touch her as so many other men would have touched her.

So perhaps she does know him. At least a little.

He rests his chin on his hand while he looks at her. “Hermescame with a message from your mother, demanding your return.” She doesn’t evenhave the time to panic before he continues, “I denied her. If she wishes tospeak to me in person, I told her she is welcome to step into my realmherself.”

“She won’t do that,” Kore says, “She fears your realm. Shefears how her power means nothing in your domain.”

Kore had never known her mother to fear anything – exceptthe land of the dead. She’d grown up thinking Hades must be a hulking, formidablefigure to pull fear from her mother’s breast, but that’s clearly not the case.

He smiles, and it’s the first hint of sharpness she’s seenfrom him. “I know. There will be consequences, of course. But those are myconcern. You are a guest of my realm, Goddess of Spring. Walk where you please,and do as you please. No one will stop you.”

He’s already looking back down at his papers, eyebrowsdrawing together as he scratches out a series of numbers and rewrites them.It’s a clear dismissal, but Kore can’t bring herself to move.

She’s never met this man before. Yet he stands against hermother, yet he welcomes her to his realm, yet he permits unrestricted access tohis home, yet he grants her every freedom he’s able.

“Thank you,” she says again. He gives an absent nod, alreadyreaching for another scroll.

She leaves as quietly as she came.

Keep reading

Your myth retellings are gorgeous. Would you tell another please? Maybe something with Hermes?

Pandora is made fromearth, shaped by the hands of Hephaestus and made in the image of his belovedwife. Aphrodite gifts her with grace and charisma. Athena teaches her to weaveand bestows cleverness upon her.

She stands in front ofHermes, and the god frowns and touches her with a single fingertip on her chin,moving her head one way than the other. “They’ll eat you alive,” he says, andshe doesn’t understand.

She tilts her head to theside and smiles a vacant smile. All of the cleverness in the world will do herno good without any context. “We are the same,” she says, pressing a hand toHermes’s chest. She is made from earth and has the skin to mach. He is acelestial god, and his skin is the same rich shade of brown.

He did not ask to be bornany more than his mother asked to bare him. His creation, just like hers, is atthe whims of Zeus. All for some little lost fire, all because Prometheus wantedhis people to be warm, and, well, he is the god of the thieves after all –

So he gifts her withdeceit, with selfishness, with cunning. Her smile leaves her face all at onceas she’s filled with self-awareness. “He’ll be angry with you,” she says, “I amnot what you were supposed to make.”

“Gods have shortmemories,” he says, and doesn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice. “Donot worry about me, gifted child. You have larger problems than my fate.”

He has turned her fromsomething pure into – something more like him. Her face darkens even further asher perfectly crafted mind slots all the pieces together, and he can’t help butfind her lovely. It’s how she was made, after all. “I can’t stop it, can I?Whatever they’re planning for me to do?”

“No,” Hermes says, “butnow you might be able to survive it.”

“Will I want to?” sheasks, and he doesn’t answer. She doesn’t expect him too.

~

She hides from everyone,lives in a cave at the edge of the city. The gods had called her the firstwoman, but that’s not true, she can see.

There are women. Theysmile and laugh have work roughened hands. She aches to join them, but she hasthe beauty of a goddess. They will know. If she joins them, they will know sheis not of them, and it will set into motion whatever trap Zeus has planned.

She is not human, not inthe same way, molded from clay by a god’s hands. But she is of humans, and not eager to bestow uponthem the harm she’s destined to bring them. She bathes in streams where onlynymphs reside, steals into the city in the cloak of night and pilfers from thebaker’s trash.

“When they said they sentmy brother a wife,” a low, amused voice says too close behind her one night, “Ihad not expected a begger.”

She whirls around, hardbread clenched tight in front of her, an incredibly inefficient shield. Herbreath catches in her throat when she sees him, dark and tall and eyes like thenight sky. He looks like Hermes. Like her. “Who are you?” she demands. They’rein an alley corner, and of her gifts flight is not among them. She’ll have tofight him to get away.

She’s not afraid of him.Maybe another mortal would be, cornered in the middle of the night by a man shedoesn’t know. But she’s no normal mortal woman, and besides – he has somethingcomforting about him, like the hearthfire attended by Hestia. Something warm.

“I am Prometheus,” saysthe man, and no wonder he reminds her of fire. “What do they call you?”

“You are meant to be inthe deepest pits of Hades’s realm,” she snaps, and shifts her grip on the stalebread so that she can throw it at him. He’s the whole reason she’s here tobegin with, him and his thievery.

He shrugs and walkscloser to her, watching her like one would watch a wild animal. Good. Here, inthis dark alley where no one would find a cooling body until morning, it is hethat should be afraid. “Gods forget,” he says, “and Hades had grown cold in hisplace beneath the earth.”

She pauses, considers. “Youstole fire for Hades?”

“No,” he corrects, “Istole fire for the people. But Hades benefited as well. Enough that he waswilling to forget the terms of mypunishment.”

“What do you want?” sheasks for the second time. “Why are you here?”

He stops, too close toher, “The question is why are youhere?”

She steps into his spacenow, following him as he backs away from her, “I am here because of you,fire-stealer, because gods may forget but they do not forgive, and I am thepunishment they have unleashed upon the world.”

“What a punishment youare,” he says, looking at her lips, and she forgets to hate him only longenough to kiss him.

~

Hermes watches her,watches them. He doesn’t know Zeus’s plan, if this is part of it or not, but hewatches her, and he worries. He thinks it is, he can see Aphrodite’s magicclinging to Pandora, but he doesn’t know why.

He would go to hismother, but she’s always difficult to find, Gaea preferring to live in streamsand rivers rather than face the man she bore a son for. But his mother’sfather, on the other hand, is always in the same place.

“Grandfather,” Hermesgreets, touching lightly down onto the earth, “How are you?”

“How am I always, boy?”Atlas grunts out, legs and arms straining as he holds up the sky above theearth. “Tired.”

Hermes lips quirk up thecorners. Some days, he thinks he’s more Atlas’s grandson than he’s Zeus’s son. “Ineed some advice, Grandfather.”

Atlas raises an eyebrow, “I’mlistening.”

So Hermes tells himeverything, from beginning to end, because he can’t figure out what his father’splan is, but Atlas might. He’s known the man for longer, at least.

Atlas nods, slow, andsays, “A bride of gods, a gifted child. I can think of only one reason tocreate such a child.” Hermes waits. Atlas sighs and says, “There is a jar,within Olympus, that becomes sealed when it leaves the realm of the gods. Afterthat, only a being neither mortal nor celestial may open it.”

“What are they planningto put inside?” Hermes demands, heart spiking. What are they planning to unleashupon the unsuspecting earth?

His grandfather smirks, “Itdoesn’t matter. What matters is this – what are you going to put inside?”

Keep reading

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’smistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Herais content.

Shewill remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with herhusband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’tspeak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure herdeath, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her.Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, butshe intends to enjoy it while it does.  

ThenArtemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen,staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of herhuntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, shethinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “youmust let her go.”

“I don’tcare for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involvesgetting with my husband’s child.”

“She isto give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of adeath god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us.You must let her go.”

“I amHera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemisgrowls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let thegirl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is notamong them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and Iwill grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Somepeace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“Achild,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess ofthe Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess ofchildbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure youconceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’seyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. Whatmakes you think you are any different?”

“We allhave our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as yourhusband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy childwhen you could not.”

Shetaps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, thoughshe’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’tknow that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people knowthat. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

Achild, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“Iaccept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.”She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore andlowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this,Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I willtravel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my owntwo hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes,my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera istrue to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Ioaway. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cowtraveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemisis true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before,and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband andbrings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Somethingalmost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that theyhate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much timetogether, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted forboth.

Artemisis there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera willever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams andcries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her fromcollapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t thinkshe can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’dthought to ask before this began.

But shedoes not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was.“Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeustouches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Verywell,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

Shehands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Aresgrows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silkyblack hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. Theminutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He hasan eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’scertainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her,though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays.Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea godacting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt.Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares tothe top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Heraselfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would besafe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’sprecisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. Itpains her to share Ares with them now.

He ishappy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“Hemust choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfectaccuracy.

“He isa child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If hedoes not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. Wemust be gods of something.”

Sheflickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child,and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust theresponsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeusdisapproves, but says nothing more.

Her sonwill be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children,of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart willaid him instead of hurt him.

Shetraded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need todo the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’sher son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares isalmost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strengthof his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous ofhunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’sbeen to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Exceptfor one.

 It’snot hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care ofhimself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth.But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He hasstrong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’salmost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. Heturns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopesgrowls.

“I’mlooking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“Mymaster has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Aresshakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite ormortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here tomeet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,”he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,”he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’tlinger.”

There’sa moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassumingas possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you inlava.”

“Thatwould be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the onlything hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably couldgo swimming in lava.

Bronteslooks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

Thereare more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’teven begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a handgrabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d beenpeering into.

Helooks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark asthe obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of darkamber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestusreleases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Whynot?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re mybrother, right?”

“Youshouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

Heshrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders ifhe’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keeptrack of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enoughthat he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

Hecan’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals –Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming fromthe same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks likeDemeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see theirmother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks likeHera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin lineand the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’ttrying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unliketheir mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his angeralong with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why?You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestuskicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catchinghis eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from MountOlympus as she threw me.”

Ares lookshard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away forbeing ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. Hisfeatures are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractiveon a baby, but –

– his motherloves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loveshim at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderboltsets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have growntired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of hisquestions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

Hedoesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how helooked.

He alsoknows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well,that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t weat least be friends?”

Hephaestus’sface softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell yourparents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously.Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

Thelast remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his headand laughs.

~

Ares isvery near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressureshim to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife,but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the godsof the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a properdeity.

Hedoesn’t really want any of that.  Hewants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building withHephaestus.

His brotherlets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and doesexactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watcheshis brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-betweenvisits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch ather every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. SometimesBrontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately,all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

Thereare two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boyof Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

Thesetwo giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’sroom, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him.Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages andfights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none ofthem work.

Stuckat the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’dlistened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to freehimself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

Andwaits.

Andwaits.

Daysturn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows hismother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothingelse. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest ofeternity?

In hisdarkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus,how dare they do this to him?

Then,one day, the urn opens.

Hermespeers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking foryou!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do isblink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in themidst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against hisparents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’thelp but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyoneoffered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too muchattention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

Nosooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother withsickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly evenslows her down.

“I haveto help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, andnow they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares,wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait.Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’reoutnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodiesshe’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!”she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trustme,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemisflips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’dbe impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

Shehands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’salready moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightningbolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only soeffective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’shand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keepsrunning. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runsup past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyoneoff the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermespulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the godshave shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have toworry.

He cando this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery bythe great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightningbolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning boltfly.

Itlands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a greatclap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

Allthat remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

Thegods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chestache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both hisshoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,”he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomachroll.

Theykidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

Thatdoesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“Thiswas destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’stalking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

Hestares. He hopes it’s not.

Theother gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’sarms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes andHephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’snever seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomachhe can’t explain.

“Inhonor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air,speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, sothey spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Arescan’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.

gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Hey so I've loved your Retold Fairytales for some time but I just binged your entire Gods and Monsters and I??? love Styx. A lot. And I'm curious about Hephaestus and Styx growing up as best friends in the Underworld. If you could work your magic when you have the time, I'd love to see a story about them!

Styx does not have a homein the underworld, not really. She has a room in Hades’s palace, of course, anda nook in Hecate’s house.  Charon has acottage by her river, a humble thing for a being of such great power, and she’sshoved her way onto his narrow bed and curled into the warmth of his chest morethan once. She darts through the horrors of Tartarus, and plays in the ElysiumFields.

All of the underworld is open to her, and she’s lived herethe entirety of her existence. But she’s yet to find a piece of it that feelsas if it belongs to her, that doesn’tfeel borrowed.

~

Hecate brings home a baby with no legs beneath the knee andwide, curious eyes.

Styx adores him instantly.

Hecate is a busy woman – her duties in the underworld keepher constantly moving, and she spends much of her time shrouded in her secrets.She is the goddess of magic, and there are things that only she can do, thingsthat other people can’t even know about. She is not a person with much time tospare, and babies take a lot of time.

Hades watches him often, directing the traffic of souls andoverseeing construction with the child held to his chest. Charon fashions asling, and the baby sleeps against his back while Charon ferries souls acrossher river.

Time passes. The baby is not like her.

The baby grows.

~

Hephaestus is a child, and he lives in a dangerous place.His aunt raises him, and she is a busy woman who does important things, and itseems to him like nothing in their home is safe to touch, that it is all cursedor corrosive or even, at time, sentient.

The palace is not much better. Hades always welcomes him,has a warm smile for him, but is too busy to linger. He walks on wobbly legs ofglass that Aunt Hecate fashioned for him, and they allow him to walk, but theypain him too. He cannot run or jump, he cannot explore the edges of the underworldlike he so desperately wants to because his legs are delicate, clumsy things.They are glass, and they shatter too easily.

“Don’t be sad,” a voice says in his ear, and he’s grinningbefore he even turns around. Lady Styx is there, smiling at him. She looks tobe his age, although she is much older, and she has black skin and grey hairand eyes. Her skin is the color of her river’s water, and her hair and eyes thecolor of the foam when it rushes too fast. For as long as he can remember, shehas always had kindness to spare.

“I’m not sad,” he says stubbornly. “Aren’t you busy?” She isa goddess, one as powerful and important as his aunt or Hades. He wants to growup to be just like her.

She shrugs, “My river knows what to do. Do you want to go onan adventure?”

“Yes,” he says instantly. The only time he’s allowed toexplore is when Styx is with him. If his glass legs break, she can carry him,and if anything tries to attack or hurt them, she can stop it.

She grabs his hand, smiling. It’s cold. She’s always cold,the same icy temperature as her river. “There are volcanos in Tartarus. Have Itaken you there before?”

He shakes his head, and in the next instant they’re gone.

~

Styx and Hephaestus manage to get in all manner of trouble,including, but not limited to: accidentally giving Cerberus two extra heads,devising and implementing a manner of torture for Tantalus that is so brilliantHades can’t even get mad at them for it, and figuring out it is possible to surf of Styx’s roughwaters with glass legs, but only if you’re very, very stupid and have thegoddess in question by your side and laughing so hard she forgets that herprimary job here is to prevent you from dying.

When he’d found them, Hades had given them the worstadmonishment he knew how to give: a disappointed frown. Hecate had laughed andtold them to be careful of his legs.

Hephaestus’s childhood had its bright spots. Almost all ofthose bright spots included Styx.

~

Hephaestus looks older than her now, a young man when sheis, as always, a child. He’s gotten quieter as he ages, his dark eyespermanently thoughtful.

“You shouldn’t come here without me,” she scolds, sittingdown beside him. He doesn’t respond, swinging his hammer down on glowing metalwith a boom loud enough that the volcano shakes with it. “You know Hecatedoesn’t like you going into Tartarus alone.”

“You were busy,” he says, not accusatory, just a statementof fact. “Here, cool this for me.”

She sighs, but cool water rushes from her hands and onto thesuperheated metal. It hisses and steams, but when the air clears Hephaestusholds it up and appears to be satisfied. “Must it be in a volcano? We can makeyou a forge in safer part of the underworld.”

“Volcanos are useful,” he says, the same answer he alwaysgives her. “I have more of these to do if you want to stick around.”

Helping him build whatever he’s currently working on ispretty boring. But he’s her friend, and it must be important if he’s riskinghis life by going into Tartarus on his glass legs to do it. “Sure,” she sighsslumping down to sit crosslegged next to him. He pats her on the head, whichshe’s all prepared to be insulted by - she’s a kid, but she’s not a kid – when she sees his lips curled up aroundthe corners of his mouth. He’s making fun of her on purpose, which is stillannoying, but is less hurtful than him treating her like a kid just because helooks older.

~

The first set of legs that Hephaestus makes for himself aremade of iron. They’re not as pretty as he’d like them to be, but that’s allright. He can run in these legs, jump in them, fight in them. He is no longer abeing made of glass, no longer someone who can be easily broken.

Styx is the first person he shows them to. He leaps andsomersaults in them, something he could never do before. She’s delighted atfirst, smiling and clapping, but by the time he finishes, arms out-thrown andbeaming, she’s wilted. She sits hunched and tries to keep her smile in place,but it’s trembling.  

“What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling in front of her. “Ithought you would be happy for me.”

“I am!” she hiccups, and now she’s crying, big fat tearsthat he wants to wipe away but can’t. She cries the water of her river. If hetouches them, he’ll burn. “I am happy!’

He risks it, tugging the end of his sleeve down to quicklywipe her left cheek, then ripping it and throwing the cloth away as it burns.“You don’t look happy.”

“You’re going to leave,” she says, and he goes cold. “Youhave legs, and now you’re going to leave, and I’m not. I am the Goddess of theRiver Styx, I must stay with my river. But you’re going to leave.”

His heart breaks seeing Styx cry. He loves Hecate, lovesCharon, loves Hades. But if there is one person in this realm he can truly callfamily, it is her. They share no blood, but she’s the only sister he’s everknown. “I’ll visit! You can visit me too. I wasn’t born here, Styx. Hecateisn’t my mom. I was born on Olympus, and I can’t hide in the underworld fromHera forever. I don’t want toeither.”

“I know!” she says, her breath coming in stuttering gasps asshe tries and fails to stop crying. “You’re so smart, and all the things youmake are amazing. You need to go out there, so other gods can see you, so thatpeople can see you. I just – I’m going to miss you.”

He’s a god – a little river water won’t kill him. He pullsStyx into his arms, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as her tears burn throughhis skin. She resists for a moment, then goes slack, throwing her arms aroundhis neck. He says, “I’m going to miss you too.”

~

Hephaestus does not want to cause an uproar. He’s hadfantasies of storming Mount Olympus, of confronting Hera, of doing any numberof foolish, stupid things. But he is not a foolish, stupid man.

Hecate has picked out a volcano for him already, one shetells fits all his requirements and is not in the domain of any other god, eventhe lesser ones. He will go slow. He will build, and improve the lives of themortals. Temples will be erected in his honor, tributes placed at his feet, hisname on all their lips. He’ll build his power the hard way, until they canignore him no longer, until Hera and Zeus have no choice but to offer him aplace at their table on Olympus.

But not yet.

For now, he builds something else, something even moreimportant.

~

“Can I open my eyes yet?” Styx asks, pouting.

Hephaestus’s hands are on her shoulders, pushing herforward. “No.”

She scowls. She can tell they’re by her river, in a bendwhere no one travels through, but that’s it. Her knowledge of the geography ofthe underworld is always in relation to her river. “What about now?”

“Yes,” he says.

She wasn’t expecting it, so it takes her a moment to blinkher eyes open. “Did you make this?”

“Hecate helped,” he admits, “I wasn’t sure what to do forthings like curtains and windchimes. Do you like it?”

It’s a house. A small one, not much bigger than Charon’s.It’s made of obsidian, but not several pieces put together. It looks like thewhole things was carved out of one massive piece of obsidian. The walls are blackand smooth and shining. There’s a large, round bed in the center that’s a paleblue, the chairs in a deep purple, and her curtains are a soft yellow. Thehouse is black, but Hephaestus has filled it with color, given her a rainbowtucked in every space. Copper pots hang in the kitchen, and there are signs ofhis forging everywhere – in the cabinets, the door knobs in the shape of flowers,the singular windchime hanging in her open window, even though there is no windhere.

“Do you like it?” he repeats. “I know you tend to just – endup wherever, but I thought you should have a place that was just yours. If youwant something different I can change it–”

“No.” She swallows and touches her wall, the silver designin her walls that he must have inlaid himself. “It – it’s perfect.” Quieterthen, “You gave me a home.”

No place in the whole of the underworld has ever felt likeit belonged to her. This one does. It doesn’t feel borrowed.

Hephaestus ruffles her hair, “It seems only fair, since youdid the same for me. This realm wouldn’t have been my home without you.”

They’re smiling at each other, and the tension she’d beencarrying ever since she realized Hephaestus would be leaving drains out of her.

He’s older now, almost an adult, and he’s leaving theunderworld. But he’s not leaving her.

“You’re my best friend,” she tells him, in case he’sforgotten.

“Good,” he tells her, “because you’re my best friend too.”

gods and monsters series, part xxiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here