“To kill a god,” Hera crooned, “is no easy feat. Tell me, child, why would you ask me such a thing?” She drew the cigarette pinched between two painted nails away, smoke spilling from her blood-red lips, “What are you planning, hm? What have the Fates put in store for you?”

​

 

“What if it doesn’t work?” Icarus fidgeted as Daedalus strapped the wings to his arm.

​

“Do you doubt me, my son?” Daedalus implored, “Me, the greatest inventor in Greece?”

​

“Of course not, Father,” Icarus quickly denied, eyeing the feathers secured with wax. “But—what if something goes wrong?”

​

Daedalus laughed, “My son, you’ve always wanted to fly away from this prison and reach out for the stars, and now I’ve given you the chance to. Why worry? Just do as I told you and you will be fine.”

​

Icarus bit his lip, his eyes trained on his wings, “…If I fly too far, will you stop me?”

​

“Always, my son.”

​

A cacophony of shouts swelled up from beyond the dark mountains as flickering dots moved frantically, a wildfire blazing to announce their approach.

​

“I believe that is our cue, come now, Icarus.”

​

Icarus’s breath quickened, “Now?”

​

Daedalus nodded, “Yes, come now, we can’t dally.”

​

“But, Father—”

​

“Come! Just follow me and—” Daedalus took a running start to the cliff.

 

​

“I suppose the first thing to consider is what makes a god, a god.” A trail of smoke chased after the lit butt. Hera’s hand hovered for a moment before she ground it to ashes. As a final wisp ghosted up, Hera’s lips quirked upward, hooded eyes enticing. “Well, there are plenty of ‘gods’ to choose from.”

 

​

“Jump!” 

​

The roar rang in Achilles’s ears, echoed from the ocean as its lifeblood in a conch. He leaped over the horse that came crashing down, its rider impaled on the dying whim of an eviscerated soldier, the spear coated in glistening rust fresh from its source.

​

He barely spared the nameless ally a grunt, his sword cutting down soldier after soldier.

​

“Aristos achaion!” 

​

Achilles, in a moment of respite, drew his eyes to the crumbled gate where a murder sat perched, where fourteen pairs of eyes were trained on a half-buried doll, a peek of tiny fingers grasping at its hand. All at once, they peered at him. A croon sounded from unmoving beaks. The sun shot arrows into his back.

​

Aristos achaion indeed.

​

Achilles walked through an ocean of blood of Greece’s making.

 

“Is this how I meet Hades? Or perhaps this is the path I tread into Tartarus? No. Hector lives, will live. Hector has done me no wrong.”

​

“This is war.” Odysseus’s voice haunts.

​

Another boy of Troy falls with a squelch at his heels.

​

It is much later that Patroclus comes to him.

​

No longer do the Greeks chant his praise. The whispers and the glares follow him in his inaction. But that will change soon. Patroclus will see that soon. He must.

​

“How many more?” His companion rasps. “They are slaughtering us. Achilles, how many more must die? How many bodies must pile before we can reach you on your pedestal lofted by your pride?”

​

Sand kicked up in Phthia. Snow dancing on Pelio. Fleeting embraces in Scyros. His death hanging in Troy.

​

He never does.

​

“None more must.” Patroclus brightened. “Not by my pride. Do not point your fingers at me. This,” he gestures to the blaze isolating them, “is Agamemnon’s doing. I’ve told him before. Apologize to me or Greece will burn.”

​

Patroclus stiffened, his jaw locking into place. “You do this for your reputation, to become a god, do you not? But Achilles, don’t you see? Your reputation has been tainted, stained in your greed!” Patroclus reached out. “If you continue down this path, your name will be—”

​

“What concern is my name to you.” It should have been a question, but the hero’s tone was flat. He stared at Patroclus with disregarding eyes.

​

What concern is the passing of mortals to me?

​

Patroclus recoiled, a flash of…  something. He fooled nobody. That flash was one he knew well. It was one of childhood summers spent under the shade of gnarled olive branches lobbing heavy pits at each other, joyous lungs intaking sharp tangs of sea-salted air. Usually softened with adoration, it was now veiled in betrayal. Achilles willed his eyes away before his face went carefully neutral. “I have felt you’ve held yourself at a distance as of late. I suppose your mother’s blood runs strong.” He withdrew his hand. “If that’s what you truly want, then fine. I’ll save your name. Lend me your armor so that I may. And from this day forward, the Greeks will wax poetic about how the mere visage of Achilles was enough to send Troy running.”

​

Achilles grunted. Patroclus slipped away.

​

Achilles turned his back on Patroclus as he faded from sight. To the Myrmidons scattered unsurely about, “Make sure you return my philtatos to me.”

​

His heel had been exposed.

​

“Of course—”

 

​

“I do admit, I feel the slightest of sorrows for the human race,” Hera lamented. “Only the slightest. My empathy does not run that deep. After all, it is with you mortals that my husband sleeps. Such a prideful old fool. All those lives he ruined. Such bright, beautiful lights. Ah, but nothing is as sad as the pawns we turn you lot into,” she tsk-ed. “A life of servitude to myriad forces, and what do you gain?”

 

​

“Your majesty.” 

​

Atalanta paid respect to her father, her bowed head hiding her scowl.

​

“You must marry soon, my dear.”

​

“Must I?”

​

“Of course.”

​

“And why should I?”

​

Iasus huffed, “No woman should go unmarried. You must find a husband to provide for you.”

​

Atalanta raised her head, peering down the bridge of her nose at Iasus. “I drew first blood from the Calydonian Boar and would have been honored with its kill if not for Meleager stealing my right. I need no man to provide for me, Father. Not when they would rather steal my efforts and usurp my throne. Do you truly need a son in whom to bestow your pride, when your daughter has garnered much more?” 

​

“That is no way for a woman to speak!”

​

“That is no way for a father to speak,” Atalanta curtsied. “Your majesty.”

​

“Think of your kingdom,” her father urged. “Do right by them. That’s what it means to be a ruler, my dear.”

​

​

Do right by my kingdom by selling myself to the highest bidder, I believe is what he means to say. 

​

​

Atalanta finally spoke slowly. “Should a man be able to best me through his most honorable talents so that I know he can provide better for my people than I, then I shall offer him my hand."

​

Her father thought over her proposal, and conceded, “Very well. That is a reasonable request. You are dismissed.”

​

Atalanta bowed once more before exiting the room. A smirk stitched itself across her lips. “I’ve vowed myself to you, Lady Artemis. I will be sure I honor you with a performance—”

 

​

“Quite pathetic, isn’t it?” Hera sighed. “How many gods there are.” A honed nail dug into the valley of her lips. A river of red pooled from it. “Whether that speaks to our nature, or yours, well, I suppose we could debate such a thing all night.” She pursed her lips, staunching the flow of blood. “Truly… too many of us. It’s no wonder we are never truly satisfied.”

​

 

“Worthy of a goddess.”

​

Adonis slinked through the forest, hyper-aware of the rustle of the leaves. He had already hunted three deer thus far, and he knew he should stop soon lest he anger Artemis in his carelessness. But as he traversed the worn path back to camp, a new spoil caught his eye, one that will surely be the testament of his love.

​

Adonis, Aphrodite said.

​

The laugh spurs him forward.

​

My dear, I could never live without you.

​

He ducks down under a low-hanging branch, the roar of his blood reverberating through his veins.

​

That is why I always want you to remember what I will shortly tell you.

​

Adonis slowed, the warning hanging in the back of his mind. His hesitation pulled at his muscles, urging him to turn back. Then a low grunt shattered the peace of the clearing.

​

Can you promise me this, Adonis?

​

He and the boar made eye contact, and he grinned wildly. He stood to his full height, yet the boar did not shy away. Instead, it reared up, ready to fight. Adonis had never felt more alive.

​

“A gift fit for a goddess indeed!”

 

He trampled over the delicate life tended by the nymphs. Footfalls were swallowed by the leaves.

​

Adonis reeled his spear back. The boar let out a squeal.

​

Aphrodite gasped, stumbling slightly as her foot was ensnared in a trap of thorns. “Please, no,” she begged, tearing her foot away. She continued stumbling forward, streams of flesh leaking out tributaries. The white roses wept under their new weight, stained with tears of blood.

​

Adonis rushed forward. The boar was faster.

​

The roses were painted red, though their artist had long disappeared from their sight.

​

“Prepare—”

 

​

“Ah. You must forgive me, that our conversation went so far off track.” Hera tittered, boney fingers reaching out to clutch at crystals. “Do you want a drink?” she muttered absently as she began pouring the ambrosial poison, veins bulging with the effort. “We’ve been here for quite a while. And we’ll likely be here for a while longer.” She took a sip, eyes blank, staring unseeingly. “Of course, I could never know. Gods, well… we lie all the time. All the time.”

 

​

“To die,” Orpheus slurred, drink sloshing out over the brim of his cup, “is it really such a bad thing?”

​

Eurydice rolled her eyes, a smile betraying her amusement as she plucked the cup from her husband’s hand. “I would believe so.”

​

“Oh?”

​

A smothered smile. “Yes. Should I die, I would be without my other half.” She sat next to him, reaching for his hand. “Zeus went through such a pain separating us once, I don’t think I could handle it if the gods should separate us again.”

​

“And here I thought I was the poet,” Orpheus chuckled, lacing his fingers in hers.

​

Eurydice gushed in silent laughter. “I am a daughter of Apollo. Perhaps some of my father’s artistry has finally found its way down to me.”

​

Orpheus snorted, then they sat in silence, enjoying the melody of Persephone’s symphony. “I think—” Eurydice turned to him, urging him to continue. “I think that as long as I can find you in death, I believe I’ll be happy. But should I ever lose you, I’d surely lose myself.” 

​

Eurydice’s hand was warm in his. He brought it to his lips and held it for a moment there. His fingers twitched tighter around hers as he brought the knot down to rest between them, her thumb now soothing circles into his skin.

​

“And I, you,” Eurydice whispered. “Should I ever be lost to you, simply play your lyre so that I may know to find you, that you are searching for me, that you haven’t forgotten your wife. So that neither of us may face double our losses.”

​

“How could I forget, when she has stood beside me for so long? And surely, my darling, you must know that I would follow you into Tartarus if you asked.”

​

Eurydice laughed. “I’m not sure Hades would permit that.”

​

“I could always seduce him with my lyre until he guides me to you again.”

​

“You would so willingly trust a god? What if he deceives you?”

​

“Well, I suppose then I’d have to—”

 

​

“Such wretched beings we are.” The silence built between them, then shattered with the glass crushed in Hera’s hands, red splattering onto her ill-fitting dress, draped on near bone. “You intend to end my life, end all of our lives, do you not?” Her voice flowed like honey, slowly testing its path before trailing forward. “That is why you came to me today.”

​

 

“Kill him.”

​

A sob choked out, ringing hollowly in the near-empty temple.

​

“Please, I beg of you, kill him.”

​

Athena stood over the distraught woman, face as cool as her likeness that towered above them, “You know that I cannot do that. Gods, we cannot be killed so easily.”

​

“You would let my rapist walk free while I am made to suffer? Left to care for this parasite of which I never desired the burden of caring for?”

​

Athena’s fist clenched by her side. “I would not let him do anything.” White knuckles released, fingers hanging limp. “I must admit, I am a bit ashamed. You worship me so, giving your life to be in my eternal servitude, and here I am, with nothing to offer you.”

​

“Then offer me his head—”

​

“I can’t!” The outburst bounced off the marble pillars, ringing loudly in the emptiness. “I can’t.”

​

“But, My Lady—”

​

“I wish I could, but I cannot.” Athena looked away. “My father is not a good man, that, I’m sure, you know. The fate that has befallen you has befallen many others by his hand, and not even his wife holds the power to punish him.” She gave a bitter smile. “What right does a woman have to interfere in the affairs of a King? No matter that woman herself be a goddess, she must always subordinate herself to a man.”

​

“So, you can’t do anything to help me?”

​

“I’m afraid I cannot. It is not within my power to do so.”

“You gods are all the same.”

​

The silence resonated loudly.

​

“Truly, we are,” Athena started. “Or perhaps, I am wrong.”

​

“My Lady?”

​

Athena came to kneel in front of the priestess. She brought shaking hands up, cupping her chin with one and caressing tangled dark curls with the other, wide eyes begging the priestess for her trust.

​

“I have not provided you a reason to give your everything to me, but I still hope that you do so anyway,” Athena breathed. “My priestess, I cannot punish the one who did this to you, for he is protected by his status. However, I can give unto you the power that he stole away with his wretched deed. Should you accept my gift, you would accept the ability to deflect that male gaze that may lust for you and take what is not theirs to force you to give, regardless of urchin or scholar, peasant or king, mortal or god, that you may never know helplessness again.”

​

“Please! Yes! Let me receive your gift!”

​

Athena shook her head, air punching her lungs with each breath. “Let me finish. This gift, it will be a double-edged sword. Though you may no longer know the pain you are so currently embroiled with, you will know so much more.” Athena’s eyes hardened, her frown barely held back from becoming a scowl. “They will christen you a monster. Many may soon come after your head. Though you may know safety, you’ll soon forget peace. Is this a burden you desire to bear?”

​

The priestess gave a firm nod, eyes resolute. “No burden may be heavier than that which I already cradle in my bones.”

​

Athena smiled, eyes aglow with regret. “Then it shall be done,” she whispered as the hair around her fingers began to writhe. Athena straightened and stepped back, curious snakes following her.

​

And as the priestess followed her idol in standing tall, accepting the outstretched hand, she smiled an awkward smile, all sharpened teeth and beady eyes. She smiled, all confidence and relief. She smiled, and it was beautiful.

​

Athena observed this change, nodding in approval. “Live well and live long, Medusa.”

​

Medusa offered her a slight bow. “My Lady—”

​

 

“My time here has run out. The Fates, they are cutting my string short,” Hera mumbled, eyes slipping shut, blood trickling and blossoming against the cracked marble. “To answer your question, I suppose it is quite simple.” Her head lolled, bloodshot eyes shuttering open to plead with you. “Apollo put it rather beautifully once. But I must ask, after I tell you, will you kill me? I have no further strength to live.”

​

“…What an interesting answer. I know I can’t say much to ease your reservations, but if it’s any consolation to your soul, you would not be likened to a murderer. We gods,” a desperate tongue swiped across cracked lips, “we are not human. There need not be any remorse in taking a human life when you take mine. There,” her eyes flick to the table in front of you, where an ornate knife lay. “That was a gift from my son. Pure obsidian from the volcanos he engrosses himself with. Use that to end my life.”

​

You comply, blade hovering over the cavern that would shelter a beating heart.

​

Hera took a shaking breath.

​

 

How do you kill a god? 

​

They are immortal. 

​

They never die, 

​

they are always remembered

​

but

​

if you deprive them

​

of the stories

​

of their glories and gold

​

erase them 

​

from the histories of old

​

tear them apart

​

until their bare bones remain

​

expose them for who they are

​

don’t leave any secrets in the dark

​

then,

​

and only then, 

​

can the god

 

​

Hera’s eyes slip shut. You slide a drachma under her tongue. She hums. You sink the blade into her flesh and watch as she dissolves. Her last words are carried along the draft from the air vents.

 

die. 

​

 

“Thank you.”