siblings of war: ares and athena
Brutality feasts on his offerings while his older sister Tactics stands watch
i like to imagine that because ares embodies the misery and bloodlust of warfare, he also embodies the aftermath. when his champions triumph, he becomes the tall, beautiful hero which history books portray winners as, but when his side fails he will physically take on the appearance of an emaciated child that gorges on the guts of war horses and human corpses (always sacrificed to him without fail, the battlefield is his altar)
athena, her fatherās beloved daughter, always grew faster than her brother. she was the oldest, yes, but their ages became more evident as war tactics, strategy, and weaponry became more advanced. with each new scientific, methodical, or philosophical breakthrough jn the name of war she seemed to age, become more elegant and handsome, more cold and intelligent.
but brutality is an ageless song, and from the moment the first man raised his fist to strike down another until present day, violence for the sake of violence had never developed past instinctual bloodlust. aresā adult form came to be unnaturally, after eons of his ritualistic feasting, his muscles and sinew and bones stretched and grew because of the blood he consumed.
athenaās marble temples spring up across the land, her offerings are hot wines, fat calves, olives and blue grapes, perfumes and spices and incenses served on silver platters by maiden hands. her brotherās face is covered in gore and his red eyes seem even more wicked on his skinny face. their father does not look at him because his gaze is honest and truthful. but the eyes of kings never have room for ugly things.
