#* prometheus.

she has been cursed, spat out, rejected, and forgotten. yet the worst of it all, perhaps, has to have been alone. she has wandered this earth for hundreds of years, watching and bonding with humanity only to always lose them — those fragile creatures whose lives were over in the blink of an eye. the loneliness has been grueling. she does not remember at what point she had decided to stop adopting pets and friends, to afraid to have her heart broken again. but then he had found her: prometheus, come earthbound to wander like her, to love these people the way she did. she had soaked up his company as though he was the sun. for the first time in over four thousand years, elia realizes, she has a friend. she has family. and she is no longer alone.

what did they do to you ?

she’s never talked about it,   not once these past few centuries.   when one day she woke up and saw that she was no longer a doe,   she walked until she found a meadow no man had ever laid eyes on,   and over the years,   sloughing away in her little garden in the woods,  she’d found a way to accept the pain;  to forget.   every now and then she remembers   —   there will be a flower,   a particular breeze,   a word,   and the old wounds within her become inflamed all over again.

what did they do to you ?

“  where to begin ?  ”   she asks him,   and she laughs,   but the sound is hollow.   fingers knot in the fabric of her shirt,   twisting and releasing,   twisting and releasing.    the sound of her immortal heart is so loud that it drowns out everything else.    reem feels herself disassociate;  her mind drifts back to keryneia  ( great mountains,  the smell of pine and moss,   flowers every shade you could think of ).   she remembers the darkness of the woods,   the hoots of the owls at night,  lost,   cold, alone.   her mother was preoccupied with dancing,  ululating into the night,   forever wandering away as though she had forgotten that she had children at all.   she remembers the wind guiding her until she found her  ( artemis ),   so tall,   beautiful and terrifying and wild all at once,   with eyes like the moon.   you will never be alone again,   the goddess had told her.

what did they do to you ?

hermes,   hair like rye,  a straw between his lips,   his voice soothing as a brook,   eyes that glistened with mischief and a smirk that promised worse.   he did not chase her,  or touch her,   but just spoke.    spoke,  and sang,   joked and teased until her guard fell,   until her mind was occupied with only him,   until she ached for their meetings,  until she almost begged him to love her.    he was sweet and gentle,   kind,   cheeky.   he liked to talk about himself,   his exploits,   his adventures,   and she loved to hear them.   for a long time she was convinced that he’d promised her a life together,   a future,  and it was only later that she realized he never actually said those words out loud.

she remembers the coldness in artemis’ eyes,   colder than the silver of the moon.   she had been standing tall and stiff and straight,   waiting for her underneath a cypress,  and reem knew she knew.   she had expected her to be screaming,  to be furious,   to rage until the storm calmed and then punish her this way or that,   and she would swear to never break a promise again.   instead artemis was silent,   and the silence was more terrifying than anything she could have imagined.    you swore on the styx,   she’d finally said,  and the words had been curt  —  a verdict.   doe eyes,  his little hind,  is that what he called you ?  if you wanted to be a doe so badly,   you should have said.  i have always given you what you wanted.

what did they do to you ?

she’d heard of artemis’ punishments before.   kallisto,  actaeon.   the stories had not said how much it hurt to be cursed,   to have your body change against your will;  the horror you felt when you realized you no longer had a voice or hands or feet.   she remembers wanting to cry for help,   for forgiveness,   and hearing a deer’s balk come out instead.   she remembers reaching out for her mother  ( the only mother she had truly known ),   and falling instead as the goddess disappeared into the shadows.   she remembers seeing her own reflection in the water and wanting to weep,   but deer could not cry.   she could not cry.  

what did they do to you ?

i'm sorry,  little doe.  hermes had reached out and  placed a hand on her snout,  rubbing it twice as though she was a pet.   he did not look sorry,   she vividly remembers;  his dark eyes still sparked with mischief.   the piece of straw hung between his lips.   i can’t help you.   a broken vow is a broken vow.   a curse is a curse.    artemis will forgive you eventually.   and just like that,   he had left.   she never saw him again. 

what did they do to you ?

there was no peace as a hind.   men chased her  —  no longer for her beauty,   but for her antlers,   her hooves,   a chance to brag they caught the fastest hind in all of greece.  she ran for years and years,   rarely pausing,   until one day there came a man who did not tire.   he hunted her for a whole year and eventually,  she could run no more.   she remembers how her limbs gave out from under her,   remembers the cool dirt against her shivering,  sweating flanks,  remembers surrendering herself to her fate.    she remembers how he looked  (  heracles the hero ),  big,  broad,  bearded,   a lion’s skin tied around his shoulders.   he seemed both triumphant and angry,   as if he was annoyed that it had taken so long to tire her.    she remembers the glint of the arrow in the sun,   the searing hot pain as he shot her through her hind legs.   she remembers crying for help,   but her balks only seemed to further annoy the demi - god.   she remembers how the net felt,   rough and coarse,   chafing painfully against her flesh as he hoisted her over his shoulder.

what did they do to you ?

artemis had come storming out of the thick of the woods no more than an hour later,   accompanied by someone brighter than the sun  ( apollo ? ).    it was the first time she had seen the goddess since the curse.    she was furious  ( you can’t have her !  let her go !  that hind is sacred to me ).   the argument that ensued between the parties was fiery,   but reem was so preoccupied with the sight of her former guardian that she barely paid attention to what was being said.    it was only when she disappeared again,   with barely a glance in her direction,   that reem realized she would not be freed;  they would not help her.  she was carried on like a prize,   an animal,   the arrow still stuck in her ankles.   she still remembers the feeling of the wet,   silvery ichor trailing down her fur as if it happened yesterday.   she still bears those scars now.   

what did they do to you ?

she remembers opening a book about greek myths.   she told herself it was to amuse herself about every silly assumption,   about all the things they got wrong and all the things they got right.   in truth,   her heart raced as she skimmed the pages for a mention of her name.   she didn’t know why it hurt so much to realize that,   after everything she’d been through,   history had forgotten her.    there was no mention of her name:  no words describing the woman who grew up in keryneia,  who loved hermes,   who was cursed by artemis.   all that remained was the story of a doe,   a magical beast with golden antlers who could breathe fire,   a task of heracles.   a myth.

what did they do to you ?

prometheus’ words instill a deep sadness in her.   green eyes meet his and she sees her own grief in them,   the same loneliness,   the same resignation.   reem takes his hand in hers and squeezes it softly.   the message is layered.   this is all we have left  —  the gods took everything else.    most of his family is in tartarus,   imprisoned for eternity,   or has abandoned him.   she has lost her mother,   her sisters,   her friends to that same cruelty.   but they have each other now.   they have found a friendship,   their own little family,   in one another.   and this one is by choice.   this one can’t be so easily taken away.