"I was known as one of the most beautiful women around the world - and I hated every moment of it."
---Cassandra
_____
I was scared of men. There was no other way to put it.
I trusted very few men in the first place, and the ones I did were all related to me.
Men were the ones who told me I must marry, that eyed me like ravenous dogs, that stalked and kidnapped me.
Perhaps, if I were more homely, I would not have started receiving marriage proposals at the age of six. I could have been a priestess for the goddess of knowledge and war, Athena, served her as I was meant to.
The problem was that I was not homely, not in the least.
With my long, thick auburn hair trailing behind me in shimmering silken curls; pearly white skin that seemed to glow; and most of all, my wide, almond shaped hazel-blue eyes, surrounded by a thick halo of soot black lashes set under thick, naturally perfect chestnut eyebrows.
Men would constantly write me poetry about my looks, as if I would forget how I looked. How could I, when that was all that anyone ever seemed to see?
Over the years I had done my best to ruin my beauty out of spite, though nothing seemed to work. Maybe if it had worked, I would have been left alone.
It never did.
I had shaved my eyebrows and hair when I was six, after the first suitor had attempted to woo me. They both grew back thicker and more luxurious, my hair a rich auburn, instead of it's previous strawberry blond. As for my eyebrows, I has not needed to pluck them since.
He had written a poem:
Eyes as deep and mysterious as Poseidon's realm,
Hair,
First of gold,
Then a fiery red,
How I wish to caress you...
---Agaememnon
Thankfully, he shrugged of the rejection, and was soon courting Clytemnestra of Sparta, and he was her problem. I burned the letters, hoping to never see him again, and donated all the silks and jewels he had used to attempt to woo me with to Athena, Artemis, Aphrodite, and Apollo.
At nine, I tried to use candles to burn my "precious marble" skin, as one suitor, Jason of Athens, referred to it, before he attempted to force himself on me. I only got a slight rosiness at my cheeks for my trouble.
Be my Galatea,
My beautiful ornament,
Be my Goddess.
Your hair is a rich velvet,
Blood-red,
The color of my heart,
Which bleeds for you,
as I ache to touch you,
YOU ARE READING
Cry of Cassandra
Historical FictionMen have always looked at Princess Cassandra like she was a piece of meat. She was done with being objectified, done with men. When the sun god, Apollo, takes notice of her it complicates everything. She spurns his advances even as he vows venge...
