01 ┃ 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝

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𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Knowledge of EPIC: The Musical isn't technically needed; this can be read with just common knowledge of Greek mythology and The Odyssey.

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Eileithyia rushed through the marble halls of Olympus, her breath coming in short, labored pants. A silver torch flickered in her grasp, the flames matching the intensity of her frantic heartbeats.

She was a striking figure—her dark hair tied beneath a kerchief, the embroidered peplos of pinkish-red flowed behind her like a stream. The wreath adorning her head shifted as she ran, her lips muttering prayers to herself—each word an urgent, unyielding reminder.

No, no, no... I'm going to be late, she thought, a fearful frown etched on her face.

Eileithyia had a purpose today—a life hung in the balance, and she was supposed to be there. As the goddess of childbirth, her presence was crucial.

The birth couldn't conclude without her.

She had seen centuries of births, had delivered souls into the harsh yet beautiful realm of humanity, and she had never been late.

Not once. Yet, this evening had not gone as planned.

Ate—the goddess of mischief, ruin, and destruction—had decided otherwise.

She had taken it upon herself to set a thousand small obstacles in Eileithyia's path—misplaced tools, disruptions among the mortals, inexplicable detours. A labyrinth of mischief that made her late—far later than she'd ever imagined possible.

Annoyances. Delays. Each a thread that tangled itself around Eileithyia's feet, keeping her from where she needed to be. The weight of her tardiness bore down on her chest, a gnawing fear taking root within her.

By the time she arrived on Earth, it was far too late.

She arrived to a quaint carriage, situated alone under a starlit sky. Its windows glowed softly in the night, and inside, she could hear the low murmurs of those gathered.

The humble room she entered was dark, the shadows deep, illuminated only by the glow of her torch. And at the center of it all sat a woman, her skin a warm sepia, her dark hair pulled away from her tear-streaked face.

"Nooo!" The woman sobbed, her face buried into a bundle of cloth that she cradled to her chest.

Eileithyia's heart sank as she ventured silently along the walls of the room, She observed the scene before her, her chest aching.

Eileithyia moved along the walls of the room, unseen and unheard, her presence cloaked from mortal eyes. Her heart broke for what she saw: the woman was crying, her face twisted in a sorrow that needed no words to explain. Beside her sat a young man, his blond locks disheveled, his hands trembling as he gently held his wife.

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