Page 5 of Heroines of Olympus

Now, she wishes that her clothing concealed more. Aphrodite is dressed for the warm weather found on her island year round. The sticky humidity making less clothing the preference. What she wears consists of thin, sheer fabrics that hide little.

“Aren’t you pleased to see me, Mother?” He asks, his face forming into a pout with puppy dog eyes that have a pang of guilt shooting through her. Itshouldplease her to see her child.

Aphrodite dismisses it with the wave of her hand, “Your presence simply caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Sitting down at the opposite end of the table, Aphrodite attempts to keep some distance between them. Oedipus gets up and walks over, sitting down by her. She almost misses the predatory look that crosses his eyes as he stares at her breasts through her dress.

With a hope of a distraction, she asks, “Darling, what have you been up to?”

Oedipus sits back in his chair, pausing before answering as her skin prickles under his gaze.

“Since when do you care?” He bites, all friendliness vanishing from his face.

Aphrodite shifts nervously in her chair, clasping her hands together. “I have always cared for my children. Don’t pretend otherwise just to be hurtful,” she replies.

He leans forward, and picks up the knife from its place setting, twirling it around. He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?

With her focus on the knife, his right hand under the table moves until it is on her inner thigh, sliding up rapidly.

Aphrodite jerks away, standing up as her chair falls over behind her.

In a flash, Oedipus is in front of her, pushing her back until she is against the wall of the dining room, the knife pressed firmly against her throat.

“What are you doing?!” she shouts, but he pushes the knife harder, until it draws a trickle of blood, silencing her.

His left hand is suddenly on her collarbone and slowly making its way down to her breast, cupping it aggressively. His touch repulses her; her disgust apparent on her face.

“You fuck everything and everyone, seem to have no line you won’t cross.” He breathes, his voice void of any emotion. Aphrodite truly fears that he might harm her, but she refuses to mince her words to placate him.

“You disgust me. My own son? I would never touch one of my children that way and I don’t know where I went so wrong with you that made you turn out this way.”

The hand that is groping her drops and the rage returns in his eyes builds with the pressure of the knife. She can feel a steady stream of blood trickling down her chest now as it heaves with fear.

A shout comes from the hallway as several of her Acolytes runs in, screaming at him to stop.

He drops the knife to the ground, annoyed at the interruption, and storms out.

An Acolyte rushes over to help her as she falls to the floor, back against the wall, sobbing.

3

HESTIA

Sweat trickles down her forehead as Hestia makes her way to see the Oracle. She reaches up and wipes it on her sleeve before it can run down her glasses. The sun is unrelenting, and she has to squint against it as it glares down on the crowded streets of Olympus, and her normally cool alabaster skin is tinged pink. The capitol city of the Olympic Isles is bustling with activity, a mix of merchants, pilgrims, acolytes, all intersecting in a mixing pot of life.

With the upcoming Hero Trials, there are more visitors than usual. It never ceases to amaze her how far people will travel to watch the brutal bloodshed. The Heroes are supposed to be the protectors of the realm, chosen by Ares and Athena, but somewhere along the way, the recruitment process has become a source of entertainment and revenue.

Hestia’s patience is tested as she moves at the sluggish speed of the masses, and she is getting increasingly more frustrated the longer it takes. Her shoulders bump from side to side between the surrounding people, and the heat of so many bodies pressed together is stifling. If she were Athena or Aphrodite, she would drop her hood, make the crowd part before her, and tell them a god walks amongst the mortals. She sneers at the thought of moving through this world with that level of audacity, and pulls her hood lower, ensuring her anonymity remains.

At last, she is upon the white marble steps of her destination. The golden dome of the building glints in the sunlight, standing out amongst the white buildings that make up the sprawling city. She sends a quick prayer up to the Fates that this will be a fruitful endeavor.

The six months that her dear friend, Hera, has been missing have tested Hestia’s sanity. Where has she been? How is there no one looking for her at all? Why is she the only one who seems to care? Nobody expects Zeus to be bothered, but Fates damnit. Someone has to be concerned with what happened to her.

Once inside, she drops her hood and the acolytes immediately drop into bows of recognition.

“No, please, none of that is necessary with me.” She gestures for them to stand. “I was wondering if I could see the Oracle today?”

They glance amongst each other before one of them answers. A young girl, with beautiful dark hair in tight braids from her scalp to her waist, accentuated with golden beads and charms that matched the silken golden robes Oracle acolytes wear. “My goddess, you must make an appointment.”

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