𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗬𝗦 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 · A collection of short stories of the sci-fi, fantasy and quirky kind. Take a quick spin around the clouds of Olympus to the frozen wastes of Jupiter's icy moon |
The very first story, The Goddess of Door Hinges, is...
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Flowers in pots, flowers on the floor, and flowers hanging down walls—the whole place reeked of flowers. She gagged.
A melodious voice invaded her ears, "Cardea, you okay?"
Cardea rolled her eyes and turned. "Yep, everything's good and dandy, Flora."
Flora bestowed a smile upon her and floated towards the altar of her temple, adorned with yet more flowers in all their gaudy unsightliness. The gods and goddesses embraced her with smiles so sickly sweet, the repugnant hyacinths paled in comparison.
Floralia wasn't celebrated in the mortal world anymore, but that didn't stop Olympus from throwing this party in Flora's honor. Cardea crossed her arms and pouted.
A dancing spark on a golden helmet drew her attention to Minerva, who stood chatting with Juno. Several nymphs hovered nearby, swathed in the trendiest togas.
Cardea rolled her eyes again. When do I get my fan club? Never. Because I'm the goddess of door hinges!
A memory invaded her head like a Trojan horse—that of a nymph who had the audacity to blurt to her face, "Wait, there's a goddess of door hinges?"
Um, hello? Rude? Cardea huffed and stalked out.
Her mind drifted to the tales of mortals—of lives fraught with uncertainty, odysseys of love and battles fought on the legendary "internet". She belonged with the mortals, traversing the halls of the Elysium of youth—the high school.
When she emerged outside, the sun assaulted her with its blinding whiteness. She headed towards the golden gates of Olympus, past towering marble columns. Puffy Olympian clouds yielded underfoot and reduced her disgruntled stomp to a weightless shuffle.
At the gates, she found the satyr on duty snoring in the sentry booth.
She rapped on the window.
The satyr jolted awake and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Huh—what? Holy butt of Bacchus, you scared me!"
"Uhuh," Cardea intoned. "Can you call me a chariot?"
"The charioteers are at the party—"
"Never mind." She opened a telepathic link, and thankfully, it connected. "Merc, I need your sandals."
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