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

Of Cold or Welcoming Hues

Dreamless sleep was a saving grace.

The heaven's tears were a medicine that cured the outside and inside of the fair body.

Naïve little lady she was still, and a little lady she would remain until her soul stepped into the last platform of healing—healing from the blurry ardors of the past night and the betrayals she had endured. Pearly tears were now dried, and the sun had revoked the grays of the passing nimbus cloud.

As her sleep ended, Athena slowly awoke with renewed glint in her silver eyes. There were no more aches. No more labored breaths—there were only the calm ripples of the pond to caress her skin and the distant birds' song that muffled her ears from her anxiety.

A halo formed on her head as the sun rayed down with his golden light. There was an embrace of comfort as she stepped out from the waters. Wet and bare, yet the sun was a delight as he dried her down like a friend who had been there ever since. Athena looked at the scenery, staring at the trees and the flowers and briars—the garden was not as bad as she initially thought, though there was still the reluctant bliss amidst its aura. But in conclusion, sunshine dispelled the gloom that hovered above them.

"What is with these violets?" Tilting her head, Athena pondered. There was no hatred for such floral, for hate was a large and dark virtue, especially when she had made an abrupt decision to let the ominous memory of the night pass. But still, not withdrawing her sight from the unruly swarms of the flower, Athena felt a little dire sentiment towards the violets.

Under a large tree, there she sat—wasting the morn until the moon caught her. Nothing was there to dally but only stare at the vast abandoned garden that grew to its jumbled rhythm. She repeated, "Green, violet, white, and blush," as those were the colors that the paradise offered.

Sadly, it was a bore—a repetition that could drive a sane mind to madness. Somehow, Athena remembered the song Artemis taught her whenever she needed to call a flock of birds.

"Well, this wilderness should have a little touch of fauna. What dull moments would it be if I plan to stay here and the place remains the same." She thought, pouting as she crossed an arm below her bosoms while the other rested to have a finger raised on the corner of her mouth. Briars and brambles were also a nuisance, glaring with their thorns as if they uttered a threat at her. "And with you, poor darlings that sore the sight," She pointed at the shrubs, "your time is up."

But before she could pluck out those unwanted plants, she rose from her rest and sang the song that called out to the birds—

"Come hither,

Oh, messengers of the heaven.

Come hither

To the barren trees that wailed

For companion.

Come hither,

Oh, rulers of the clouds,

Flutter your wings

And let the Anemoi

Blew you in my direction—

Where a paradise was deathly as death."

A hope rushed within her. With the last line changed, Athena could only wait for her echoed song to be heeded by the birds.

As the course of the wind suddenly changed, with her long and untamed curls blowing against her cheeks, distant choirs of tweets caught her attention. Looking up, a flock of sparrows came—singing back to her as they landed gracefully on the earth and the branches of trees.