He was once a King.

His father fell to his hands, his mother coward from his gaze and all those who bore themselves by the earth or from the womanly thighs bowed to his simple word.

Then there had been you.

Many claimed Cronus unkind, perhaps your marriage was not founded upon that of merriment but you were the maiden who put up with his bloodstained reign.

And part of him, a deep and uprooted part that dared not grow. Loved you for it.

Then you betrayed him.

Brought his son up in shadows, rising above and freeing those that long ago their names slipped his tongue. He could only watch, watch as you fell upon separate sides of that war.

Now the once king rested in bound chains. No longer was he of body, of divinity, nor of Kingmanship. Merely a relic of the before, before his children split themselves from his ichor coated stomach.

He was not loved, not truly, his own bowed toward his might. In fear. In hatred and repulsion, not of love for his ways nor the loyalty toward his form and what he brought.

Except you.

What a painful realization, with your face to fade from his memory.