The Last Ballad of Olympus: The Waltz of the Vulture and Owl

A Blighted Daybreak

Quivered hands were as cold as ice. Fingers stiffened as Athena's eyes cried more beading tears like the gushing falls of Olympus. Under the warmth of his palm were no comfort—only an irksome ruse and lies.

If the bed was as soft as the rose petal, Ares was the single large thorn—stabbing through her skin with hidden poison, blighting her blood until she vied to despair.

Athena was a broken diamond, shivering under the glare of the god of war, who she never knew looked down at her with pity.

"Owl—" She heard him call with a voice purring in concern and hands that clasped on hers to makeshift some relief.

Oh, how his heat infuriated her. A sly snake coiled around from head to foot. It was ironic that the common knowledge dictated that snakes were one of her intimates—but with a snake, like Ares, the owl did not heed to such a predicament.

Repeating his call, Athena finally looked up.

Her silver eyes were shadowed with grief, and her face pale, wearing away the colors he remembered were present last night. Ares slowly broke at how she looked and felt helpless as he could only study the lines of bitterness on those features.

"I—I can explain all that had happened." He said, grasping her cold hands more.

But Athena was taking no more lies.

Before he could speak another sentence, she assertively pulled herself away from him, sprinted out through the secret door, and back to the main entrance of the whole interior—crying in pain and ignoring the prying eyes that might see her naked body.

She no longer cared about the dignity she guarded for a long time.

Eons of hymns dedicated to her—praising her chaste and wise disposition that many ladies were required to emulate—were all but dull songs that lost their meaning. In a twist of harsh eventide, she unknowingly became the belladonna that satisfied an unquenched thirst for one time—one time.

Her wails echoed like a blistering howl of a slaughtered bird. Ares reached out again, but his owl flew, singing an agonizing song.

Feet became an entity of their own, forcing a deviation away from the torture the walls of the megaron subjected her to.

She was like a feral who had lost her mind and only had the mercy of nature as her last resort.

With eyes still stinging from tears, the first streak of light was no aid. Blinded and maimed, Athena could only hear what seemed to be birds in the air and the feel of muddy earth on her soles—slowing her pace. She knew not of the place she dreaded herself in, but the smell of morning dew and strong earthy aroma made her think of the outside world she yearned to trod.

Once her eyes cleared, the sight of vast greens welcomed her with violet flowers swarming like a white sea foam that caused chaos along the harmony of the big blue sea. Despite the loud pounding of her heart, Athena bravely walked towards the overgrown yard—not minding what other traps lay concealed under the thickets. But none was living, only feeling the wet earth with small pebbles along its mixture.

Though the early winds were crisp, Athena was more comfortable under its swift wings than the burning hearth inside the megaron, where it consented to a masquerade of madness. She walked towards uncertainty, traversing the mystifying and large area that seemed to be only inhabited by the flora.

Brambles and briars were everywhere. Lovely flowers were present but only had a few varieties and uniform colors: the violets composed the majority, there were roses of white, and peonies that no longer had the blush but the shade of mellow flesh. It was an odd ensemble. Athena finds the whole place not a paradise but a camp. The area was no nursery of new budding sprouts, for birds would not even dare to drop a seedling.