Some scenes are graphic in nature, read at your own risk.
My back and my side hurts. Can't breathe. My chest's heavy. The marble floor is cold. His hands press into me; my sides, my hips. They tear at my clothing. Screaming. Begging. He exposes my flesh, throwing the torn fabric behind him. Scrambling to get away. He pulls me back by my leg. Dull pain throbs from where he touches me. One hand traps both of my wrists. His lips, his teeth, his tongue drag my neck, my shoulder. My eyes burn. Hot wet trails form from them. His free hand forces my legs apart. Begging. Screaming. No use. He continues, forces inward. Hot pain. Sharp pain. It starts in my womb and spreads through me. Wordless screaming now; bouncing around the temple. He's too strong. It hurts too much. Fall limp. Pain lessens, just slightly. My body's on fire. His cold hands cause it to burn and leave trails of pain wherever they touch. Eyes open. Vision blurred. The statue; the goddess. Pleading to her. More screaming. Make him stop.
"Athena!"
My throat feels dry and cracked, scarred and sore. Agitated hissing sounds by my ears; the only noise besides the quieting echoes of screaming. My screaming. Hissing; the friction of scales against scales and flicking serpent tongues.
She was only trying to help, wasn't she?
His touch is still here, rending my flesh in tortured ribbons; cold but burning, cutting into me as a blade, piercing me in my most vulnerable place even with my legs firmly closed and his presence long since gone. It's not real. He's not here anymore.
But it feels so real. The heavy brine of his hot breath invades my lungs, choking me; his heavy body holds mine hostage, wrists pinned in one hand above my head -- even though I know they lie now by my sides.
Help me. Help me. Help me.
More hissing. I'm getting dizzy from holding my breath to avoid his scent; trying to focus on the hissing, the heavy chlainai draped over me as a cover from the damp chill of this part of the cave, my arms crossed over my chest and free to move, my thighs pressed tightly together.
Help me. Oh, Athena. Oh Mnemosyne. Help me.
Eventually, his torments fade; their impressions on my battered skin lightening, until his touch is left in the past where it belongs. How long have I been awake? How long, and how much rest did I manage last night?
My head is thrumming and my body is weighed down like it were filled with sand. Would it be worth it to get up? I'm not certain.
My goddess Mnemosyne, won't you grant me reprieve of him? At least one night? Is that too much to ask of you?
Leaving the bed takes nearly all of the energy I have. My clothes are almost too heavy, and it feels as if they're pressing me to the ground.
Like he pressed me to the ground.
No, no. Mnemosyne; don't allow me to think of that. Please. Not again. Haven't I gotten more of that then I deserve?
Wrists heavy, captured by a hard pressure. A thick mass astride my body.
Touching, touching; always touching.
Help me. Help me. Mnemosyne. Athena! Help me! Please!
The weight on my chest confines my lungs and forces only short gasps to escape me, and when I leave the phantasm behind I find that I've taken to leaning against the wall.
He's gone. He's far gone. The Sea god has no dominion here in the earth.
I take stock of my pale skin to reassure myself; looking past the layers of dirt and grime for the bruises I still feel, but there are none. He's long gone. It has been years since he has been here; truly, been here.
I ignore the utter distorted and bloated mass that is my body. It's never been the same since he got to me; it's twisted and hideous now. The small mirror of polished bronze comes to mind; I threw it far out of the cave, my home, the last time I looked into it and saw that it was lying -- it had showed me as looking nearly exactly as I had before he ravaged me.
Except for the serpents. They were Athena's doing. She meant to help, I'm sure -- after Poseidon left me bare and disgraced in the hall of her temple she came to me, as I was barely conscious, and the next I knew were the snakes, and this cave. Just thinking of them, of the way they've replaced my hair, upsets me. I used to be so proud of my hair; long, soft strands that could hang down past my waist on a good day, and could be done up in immaculate twists and ringlets.
"Ah," I hadn't noticed, as I was thinking back, how my hand had travelled up my neck towards my scalp, like I'd be able to feel my hair again. I should have been more careful. Even isolating the wound inside my mouth doesn't keep it from hurting, and I hope that this time it was a dry bite.
Taking my knuckle out of my hand to examine I see that it's running with blood and saliva, the two puncture wounds bleeding sluggishly, the swelling already starting around them.
How the snakes were meant to help is beyond me to say -- the only part of me they don't bite is my face -- every other appendage, be it my hand or my arm, or more rarely my knees, that comes within striking distance is subject to their venomous attacks; but Athena is a wise goddess and I must trust her judgement. If becoming this creature is meant to help me then I must be patient and wait to understand.
It's hard to understand. I'm not sure I can. They're still writhing about and hissing angrily as I walk out of the small chamber I use for my bed I immediately come face to face with a marble figure; a man with curled hair, and horrified expression perfectly preserved in stone. I can feel my face flushing as the anger rises in me and I shove him over, causing his head to detach from his fragile neck; I must have been too tired to destroy his body after he'd turned to stone, though I don't remember the exact encounter. There have been so many they're all blurred together.
I'm not sure if I'll ever understand why men always seek to attack me. My cave, my home, is littered with their cold, hard, corpses -- scattered into pieces; blades and spears clasped firmly in their disembodied hands. What do I do, sequestered here as I am, that causes them to want to slay me? I don't do anything.
What did I do walking down that beach that tempted Poseidon?
No, no. No. Don't think of that. Don't think of him. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. It's not happening. It's not happening. It's not happening.
My heart is racing. Thundering worse than any storm I've seen Zeus cause. Faster than hoofbeats of a running horse. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. It's not happening. It's not happening. It's not happening. It's not happening.
A few deep breaths calm me and I steady myself against the wall, staring at the man. The statue. Or what's left of him shattered on the ground. What fills men with such hate and cruelty that they must attack me simply for existing in any way I can; from wandering down the beach to feel the sand between my toes -- to eating rats and insects inside this cave just to survive. Sometimes I wish they'd succeed in killing me. Years of this daily torture has worn me down; worn me away. At times I feel it would be better if it just ended. If the Fates cut my string already. What did I do to deserve to live like this?
Footsteps. I hear footsteps, and feel my heart leap into my throat again. Another one has come to kill me. Another vile, hate-filled, man. I suppose I should confront him, and let him meet his fate as all the others have; let them fall victim to my hate and this curse placed upon me. There's a glint at the mouth of the cave -- a weapon, or perhaps a shield. He's like all the others.
If only Athena would allow my torment to end.
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