Weeks passed before Paris returned home with his new bride. Helen was a precious jewel in the eyes of Troy, but I did not think the same. The vision of Helen standing before the city with flames roaring in her wake, climbing up the walls and engulfing all in its path shadowed my every thought.
I blamed her for my all my worries. Paris was an idiot, but he was still my brother, and he was still only a man raised on a mountain before we recognized him and let him come home. One could only expect so much from him. I stood on the same cliff and watched him sail up to Troy. I couldn't see Helen from here, but just the knowledge that she was with my brother stirred up my anger.
They disembarked, surrounded by cheerful Trojans, and I caught my first glimpse of the beautiful Helen. True, there was no description worthy of her beauty, but that only strengthened my hatred. Her golden veil fluttered in the breeze, revealing rich amber locks of perfect hair. Troy destroyed, I thought, for this mere prostitute?
I made my way to the front of the city, where the gates were wide open in welcome. Paris strode into the city with a cocky grin, knowing he had the most beautiful woman in the world on his arm. As for Helen, she seemed to glide above the ground, comparable only to the goddess Aphrodite herself.
Suddenly, my vision tunneled and the image of Troy in flames captured my mind. I was a slave to my anger in that moment, driven by madness or a spiteful god. I ran wildly to Helen and grabbed her, my strong hands clenching her small shoulders. I tore away her precious veil and pulled her amber hair. "Know the pain you will bring to this city!" I cried.
Helen's pretty face was white as she trembled in terror...of me. I stopped shaking her as my vision cleared and I looked around. The cold glint of hatred and pools of fear in the eyes of the people seemed to drag me to the ground. I realized the monster, the madwoman I had become.
I felt a firm hand on my shoulder; it was my father, King Priam. His kind old eyes and wrinkled face were filled with disappointment. He shook his head sadly, then turned to his guards and commanded them, "Lock her in her chambers for now. Perhaps she will regain her sanity." The soldiers grabbed me and pushed me to my rooms, leaving behind a weary father and thousands of shocked Trojans.
YOU ARE READING
The Last Prophetess
Historia CortaA retelling of the tragedy of Cassandra of Troy, an insane prophetess in the Trojan War. I wrote this for a school project long ago, a narrative of a character in the Trojan war. It's quite short but explains the mythology well, if you're into that...
