By Alexia Tzortzis, TIWP Student

Icarus flew too close to the sun on purpose—and laughed as the wax burned down his back and he plummeted into the ocean. The sun painted everything in shades of gold, and set the feathers around him a flame.

There is a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the center of the flames. AND HOW SAD IT IS THAT WE NEVER REMEMBER THE BOY HE WAS BEFORE THE FALL, WITH EYES LIKE DAWN AND A CROOKED SMILE—THAT HE WAS BRILLIANT, JUST LIKE HIS FATHER.

Medusa cried the whole time Poseidon was with her. Crawling into a cave with tears streaking her cheeks, Athena crying along with her as she appeared and gifted her with the ultimate protection from the horrors of man.

There is a certain peace that comes with being alone indefinitely. It is addicting and the ultimate cure to a broken soul. AND HOW TRAGIC IT IS, THAT WE NEVER GAVE HER A CHANCE TO LIVE LIKE THIS, BUT KILLED HER AS THE OUTSIDER SHE BECAME IN ORDER TO SURVIVE.

Persephone willingly walked down to that underground hell—water hemlock, Oleander and crab’s eye trailing her steps. She gripped the darkness that became her love and held him captive in her gaze. She rules fairly and without mercy, all the while wearing a crown of black roses, night jasmine, and glittering diamonds composed of the dirtiest of souls. She rules with Hades behind her and a hellhound at her feet.

Why would she settle to live behind some lowly golden warrior when she can be the king of darkness’s wife? When she can be the Queen? AND HOW AWFUL IT IS THAT WE NEVER CONSIDERED THAT SHE WOULDN’T WANT TO STAY IN THE SUNSHINE, A PRETTY LITTLE DOLL, THAT HE WOULDN’T WANT MORE, THAT SHE WOULDN’T SUBMIT TO THE WISHES OF AN ARROGANT MAN.

Destruction lay in the wake of her name (worth 1 room full of kings), of her face (worth 1 thousand ships), or her bed (worth ten years of war). They forget who she is, that she is the daughter of two kings, not one. “Helen of Sparta,” they called her, Menelaus trying to muzzle her with a wedding ring. “Helen of Troy,” they said, Paris trying to satisfy her with hungry kisses and silk sheets.

As if she would settle for a mere boy, a mere man, a mere kingdom. As if she would settle for anything other than blood. No, she thrives off blood, the destruction of man feeding her starvation. AND SHE IS STILL HUNGRY.


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