judge, jury, and executioner.

he's a rotten god with a rotten hand. a hand that has twenty-seven bones, each misses each of yours. one hundred fourteen of them yearn to cradle you. brush a strand of your hair away. worship you. protect you. how come a god like him could ever feel longing for a lesser god such as you? how come this rage in his heart remained undiminished from ever losing you to something as shallow as his mother's jealousy?

they took you from him. damned you. lessened you. incapacitated you. caged you in a catacomb. those gods had failed you. athena who immolated you. zeus who desired you. poseidon who deceived you. artemis who scarred you. and hestia who abandoned you. and now they dare pass the stain your name?

his hands cupped your face, his thumbs parentheses the corners of your lips, finality in his tone, "i did it for you." he whispered, the lone truth in this war hailed in your name, as if to convince you, to justify what he'd done. "for you."