#melacles

Petition to offer bath salts to the big man?

The witch is unnecessary.

Unwelcome, the way she worms herself into your fight, knives and beasts and gods-damned magick all at her disposal. You already knew the gods wouldn’t let you die, but these labors were yours. The only thing your life was worth.

So you swing your club with no regard for whether she’s on the other end. It’s what Her Majesty does to you; you’re just being what she made you.

But when the witch comes to you, offering you Nectar and salutes — companionship — you wonder if it’s always been her who welcomes you.

Tricksy, these witches. It's easier for him; all he has to do is let his club lead. No stops along the way. Just him and the labor before him, that's all. 

They call him an animal -- but it's her, he thinks, who is more creature than human. Perhaps there isn't much difference between a goddess and an animal. Gods know Her Majesty the Queen can be rather rabid herself, though the last thing he needs is to admit that out loud and give her yet another reason to strike him down where he stands.

The witch tilts her head at nothing, like it's the sound of the wind she listens to. She crouches, brushing the tips of her fingers over the buds that grow from the stones of the city. But more than anything, it's the way she looks in the moonlight that convinces him.

Her skin shimmers; fingers tighten around the hilt of her axe, as though she gains strength from the moon. A Mare of Diomedes come back to haunt him, flesh of her keeper between her teeth. He'd nearly laughed the first time he'd seen her with that axe, dragging around a weapon larger than herself.

(The event)

Happy Halloween! A treat for you today <3 (which is actually a treat for me bc i get to talk about my writing hehe)

An explanation of the choice behind the title for Drop One at a TIme - mostly bc i was waiting for someone to ask about it but no one did </3

Tldr: the entire piece is a comparison of Melinoë to a golden apple! I was like 'how can i say this without outright saying it yknow', so that's mainly the focus of this passage at the end:

She shines like in the moonlight, but different. Gold instead of silver. Surrounded by the sprouts she’s coaxed from the earth, he’s reminded, suddenly, of the Garden of the Hesperides. The dragon Ladon — his role, maybe. And hers: the fruit of the single tree, growing in the center. Worth holding up the entire sky for.

idk why but something about heracles specifically makes me throw in as many references to mythology as i can. a lil bit of background for those who don't know: out of the twelve labors of heracles, this one refers specifically to the eleventh.

The golden apples are in the garden of the Hesperides, nymphs who were daughters of Atlus. it was their job to safeguard the apples - along with a sleeping, hundred headed dragon named Ladon.

there are multiple versions of this myth, but the one i chose to go with is that when he arrives at the garden, heracles tricks atlus into getting the golden apples for him by promising to hold up the sky for him until he returned.

going back to the title, it comes from a different myth, the one of hippomenes and atalanta. she promises to marry anyone who can beat her in a race, but girl runs fast as hell, so hippomenes prays to aphrodite for help. she gives him three golden apples and tells him to 'drop them one at a time' in order to distract atalanta.

so that's where the title comes from! there's actually more to this comparison that i've been thinking about exploring....something about the golden apple being the thing that started the trojan war and tore everyone apart but here melinoë (another golden apple in her own right) being the one to end the war and bring everyone together......choices choices

She comes to Ephyra again the next night. You drop in on her, quite literally, as she thrusts a dagger through the last shambler standing. She turns to you, a flush lighting her cheeks, her chest heaving with exertion. She loses no momentum from her last strike as she pivots on a foot and dashes at you, blade raised. 

The physical force of the hit surprises you - it hurts, Hestia’s fire doing nothing to cauterise the wound. When did you last feel an injury with such pain? Hell - when did you last feel an injury? She wrenches the dagger from the meat of your pectoral, and for a brief second a river of red blood spills forth before the wound seals shut, leaving no distinguishable mark on your already-scarred chest. You - gods above, you just stare at her, don’t you? She hits you again, quick as a flash, the pain already familiar, and only then do you finally wake up.