Nadia felt cold, cold to the bone, as she looked down at her bow, it had been the first one she had made, her pride and joy, it was messy, and the wood she had used had been stiff, cheap, but it was hers nonetheless, the first time she could prove that she didnāt need anyone, anything to protect her, not even a gun, her own hands where more than enough to keep her safe, to keep her fighting. She only needed herself.
Now, it seemed, someone else had come along to prove her wrong, to show her that not even her bows where safe, that no matter what she did there was someone out there prepared to destroy her work, she didnāt know who had done this, or why, but she could hedge a few guesses. Someone who wasnāt happy with her collection methods maybe, or a titan, just hoping to frighten her. Whoever it was she wanted to kill them, tear them limb from limb, snap them in two the same way they had snapped her bow, her prized bow.
She could feel cold sweat dripping down her face, she felt sick, like something was trying to force itself out of her, and, in the blink of an eye, she wasnāt looking at her bow anymore, instead she could see herself, a stronger version of herself, with hair like fire, swirling around her, running through the trees, unbroken bow at her side. This woman would never have let someone snap her bow in half, for her bow was more than a possession; it was a part of her, a limb that moved as a part of her body, unbreakable, and unmovable, just like her.
There was another person in the picture, and it took a while for Nadia to recognise him, but recognise she did. He was the man, the first man, from the orphanage, the one who had tried to get into her bed, and he followed to woman, ran after her, she knew he wanted from this woman what he had tried to take from her. She had rammed a broken, wooden bed post into his throat when he had tried to touch her, but it hadnāt been soon enough, he had still managed to feel her, not much, not enough to have satisfied what he wanted, but more than Nadia had ever wanted a man to touch her.
It was also more than this woman let him touch, for before he had even come within a breath of her he had changed, his form, that of a dear, confused, and chasing mindlessly through the forest. She had done it, but Nadia didnāt know how, changed him, and set his own dogs against him. He was torn, by his own dogs, limb from limb.
That woman was free as Nadia never had been, strong, as Nadia never could be, She was powerful, beautiful, sexual and virginal all at once, a perfect paradox. Nadia wanted to be her, wished she could reach her again.
For Nadia knew, that had once been her, she had once been that woman, a woman, in all sense of the word, just as Nadia remained a girl. The hallucination was gone, leaving her on the floor, awakened from the state of dreaming she had inhabited, but Nadia knew this was no dream, it was to true, to real to ever be a dream. It was the beginning of the truth, a truth that had been hidden from her.
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Hannah knew herself and something...something just felt off. Could she explain it? No. But it was there, it didn't feel quite right and Hannah just couldn't put her finger on what had changed but something had changed. It was like her centre of gravity had shifted, only a little but enough for her to feel knocked off course and she didn't know how to move it back.
She pondered this as she walked back to her apartment from work, for some strange reason Hannah had decided to go through a longer route tonight, she just couldn't explain why like the fact that something felt off. She couldn't explain either of those things, she just didn't know and it was frustrating. Hannah kept her hands in her coat pockets as she crossed the bridge that was barely two minutes from her home, then her gaze was drawn out across the river where two boats floated in the quiet. It might have been a trick of the light in the dim light that she had, but for a moment in the reflection on the water.
The boats looked to be on fire.
Hannah inhaled sharply as her head started to scream, wave upon wave of images assaulted her mind - shrieking and screaming. She took off at a run, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her to her apartment. Hannah forced her keys into the lock as the smell of smoke and screams of death echoed in her senses, not real - how could that possibly be real? Slamming the door shut behind her, Hannah barely even thought about locking it as her feet carried her to her bed and she collapsed on it. Curling up with a pillow, Hannah's fingers dug into her bedsheets and it was like she couldn't even breathe.
God above, she was going crazy wasn't she?
But then the images hit her with startling clarity, her mother, Clytemnestra, Caster, Pollux. The daughter of Sparta, most beautiful above all - not a woman, a prize to be claimed. There had been so many of them, so many coming to try and claim her, how had there been anything of her left? Menelaus, then Hermione - oh Hermione. Then she had run because she was selfish. Good girls don't tear down and destroy, even if they don't mean to - no good girls stay with their husbands and mind themselves, don't cause trouble, don't do anything but what they're told.
Oh but she'd never been good at that had she? Trouble haunted her, haunted her in everything. Every image that assaulted her head, trouble was everywhere and it was all herĀ fault because she never could leave anything be. She was selfish, she always had been. Whoever she was, she could only destroy and burn everything she touched.Ā
Then it stopped, Hannah's head flopped down into the pillow she had curled up around. She didn't even fight the tears that came, remembering had drained her and she didn't cry for herself but for everything and everyone that she'd destroyed. It might have been love but it wasn't beautiful, it wasn't romantic - it was pain and destruction.Ā No, she wouldn't be Helen, she would only be Hannah. This time, she wouldn't destroy anything.Ā Hannah owed the world that much.
It was a blessing when the nightmares had finally stopped, until they came back, stronger than before. She thought moving back in with Charley and Mabel would help, give her something else to focus on. And for a while, it worked. But night after night, each time she closed her eyes, Naveen was haunted. Haunted by the thoughts of what sheād done, of the man sheād killed to avenge her family, her quest for revenge and the constant pull it had on her. But there was something more, something dark. She sat by the window looking out at the night sky, and when she closed her eyes for that brief moment, it all flooded back in.
"You will pay for what youāve done to me, to all of us!" She watched as a dark figure hissed and thrashed about, throwing itself at the bars that confined it. And when she stepped closer, she sawā¦herself. She saw a woman in chains, with a vicious and wild look in her eyes. A caged animal. She fell back onto the cold ground as the woman lunged at the bars again. "This is your fate. You cannot escape it, Nemesis. You should have done more!"
In an instant, the woman was gone. Everything was gone, only now, she was there in the darkness, bound by chains. She pulled at them, the searing pain seeping down into her flesh, the chains burning at her wrists as she struggled wildly. Voices filled her ears and faces flashed before her. Faces of those who had deserved the punishment sheād handed down, but also of the few that hadnāt, the ones that had suffered from her blind rage and anger.
She was alone. No one would be there to comfort her. Not her brothers, no friendsā¦no one. And that was what she feared the most. To be locked away from everyone she held close.
Her eyes jolted open, and a scream left her mouth. The blondeās skin felt as if it were on fire, as if there were chains around her wrists. āPleaseā¦make it stop,ā was the only thing she could get out. It all came back, all of the memories. She had failed to save her family, failed to save the Gods that sheād sided with, and failed to save herself. It was all there.
When her vision finally cleared, Naveen saw that she was still there in her bedroom. It had been more than a nightmare. It was real. But she didnāt want it to be. Was her past life any better than this cursed one had been? The things sheād done in both wasnāt something she wanted to remember. She couldnāt think about any of it.
Her feet barely touched the floor as she glided down the stairs, thinking she had surely woken someone in the house with her cries. She didnāt want them to see her like that, to know what she was. The only thing she could think to do was run. It wouldnāt stop her from being haunted, from seeing those faces. But as she ran out the door, she couldnāt stop the anger that coursed through her body.
She hated it, being locked away in that prison, being turned into that crazed animal. She hated Zeus now more than ever, and she hated those responsible for what she had endured now, for being bound in this place. It was unfair, not only to her, but to those that she had allowed herself to know. To love. Was any of it real? Were any of the people real?
She knew now in her heart that she was Nemesis, but that didnāt mean it was who she wanted to be.
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Ī·Ī“Ī· ĻĪ±ĻĪ± Ī³Ī±Ļ ĪµĻĻĪ¹ ĻĪµĻĻĪ· || for my heart has been ashes all along
Achilles remembered every moment that he spent on Mount Pelion: the crack of the ice on the river that Chiron had taught them meant spring was on its way; the perfect times of year when fig trees were ripe; the hot summer nights spent in the cave beside Patroclus. Looking back on it as he rode back toward home, it seemed almost a dream. Few knew that the Mountain was the only place the gods couldn't see, it was blinded from their vision and thus he was finally free. Any destiny that had been bestowed upon him vanished in those short years. At that time he was still just a boy, he wasn't expected to be anything else.
So when the messenger came bearing news of a war, Achilles's heart almost broke. Certainly, a part of him rejoiced that he would be the mighty warrior he knew he had the potential to become. But he also knew that his lack of attraction toward women would soon become a problem. As he got older, it would become more and more strange when he didn't take a woman to bed. It would be even more strange when he refused suitors from his father.
It wasn't that he cared what the people thought of him; his reputation lived up to, and went far beyond, anyone's expectations. But he had heard stories of heroes who had completed great feats worthy of immortality but were forgotten because of their poor reputation. Part of him wished he could be different, but mostly he just wished he didn't have this fate bestowed upon him.
The messenger came as the sun was setting; Achilles lay on his back, with Patroclus resting his head on his stomach, throwing figs into the air and catching them in his mouth. The frightened cry of the messenger's horn had caused him to grab his knife and jump in front of Patroclus, to protect him from any danger. The figs dropped from the bowl he had been holding and clattered across the ground. It had only taken a few hours for the message to be delivered and them to pack up their belongings. It seemed that their boyish dream was coming to an end and any semblance of a happy ending was being ripped from their fingers.
Achilles knew how his story was going to end. He had known for longer than he liked to admit. When he was younger, it hadn't meant anything to him. What was dying if it meant he was a hero remembered for all of time? Now, with something to live for, death didn't seem so valiant. It just seemed like a failure. Surely, if he was the greatest of all the Greeks, he should be unable to die. But his mother had told him that if he is to be a hero, he must die in battle.
So Achilles and Patroclus rode their horses back to Peleus, unable to even begin to understand what they were getting into...
The last thing Archer remembered before he woke up was the smell of the ocean as he approached his father's castle. His heart was still pounding in excitement as he thought of becoming a hero. But as he breathing slowed and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he felt himself fill with dread. He was suddenly glad he couldn't remember how that dream ended.
