Goddess Kiss

Chapter 3.2

The news was blaring from the television in the living room, a cacophony of Greek voices and flashing red headlines.

I sat slumped on the couch, a cup of lukewarm coffee forgotten in my hand.
My flight to the Philippines, my escape from the growing chaos in my life, had been cancelled.
Not because of Athena's warning, but because of my father's colleagues.

They had called me to the university.
They had been investigating the golden stain, the one that had appeared on my curtain after my encounter with Athena.

Their findings were unsettling.

"It's not just a stain, Louise," Professor Dimitriou, a renowned archaeologist and a close friend of my father, had said, his voice grave.
"It's a vessel. It has a pulse. It's alive."

They had bombarded me with questions, their eyes searching for answers I didn't have.
They wanted to know everything about that night, about Athena, about the impossible.
But I couldn't tell them everything.
Not yet.

I had left the university feeling drained, my mind a whirlwind of confusion.

As I flipped through the news channels, the image on the screen froze my blood.

A photograph of the plane I was supposed to be on, engulfed in flames, the wreckage scattered across a field.
The news anchor's voice was somber, confirming what I already knew.
No survivors.

My father burst through the door, his face etched with worry.
He had heard the news and rushed home, his mind filled with visions of me trapped in the underworld. "Yia μου," he said, his voice trembling,
"I was worried you might have been on that flight. I thought you might have been snatched by the Fates!"

He pulled me into a hug, his relief palpable.
"I know you were with my colleagues, but I just wanted to make sure you hadn't been dragged down to Tartarus."

The grainy screen flickered, revealing my mother's tear-streaked face, and her voice, usually so cheerful, was now a choked whisper.
"I was so worried, nak," she said, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, mirroring the storm of emotions she was battling.

"I know, Mama," I said, my voice thick with guilt.
"I'm so sorry. For making you worried."

"okay lang nak," she said, a slight pause before the words.
"We're just glad na safe tu."

After our little family chat, I retreated to my room, my heart heavy with grief.

I glanced at the white feather Athena had left me the night we first spoke. It lay on my bedside table, a stark reminder of the impossible.

"Athena," I whispered, staring at the feather.
"Was this your way of protecting me? Or was this just another twist of fate?"

The feather felt cold in my hand, a symbol of a world I couldn't understand.

A soft, silvery laugh echoed in my room, though I couldn't see her.
"I am a goddess of wisdom, Louise," Athena's voice whispered, a gentle breeze through the room. "I see what you cannot. Trust that I am guiding you, even if you cannot see the path."

The feather in my hand felt strangely warm, a tangible reminder of her presence.

Her words offered a sliver of comfort, but the weight of grief still pressed down on me.

"But why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
"Why did this have to happen?"

There was a long silence, broken only by the distant hum of the city outside my window.
Then, Athena's voice returned, a touch of steel in its tone.
"You are a mortal, Louise. You cannot control fate. But you can choose to learn from it. This is not the end, but a beginning."

The words hung in the air, a promise and a warning.
I was left with a gnawing sense of unease, a feeling that I was being pulled into a world beyond my comprehension, a world where gods and mortals intertwined in ways I couldn't fathom.