This story was the result...
For a moment, the professor thought the statue was of her sister when she saw the moon crest at her feet, only Artemis preferred to weave flowers in her hair and often carried a quiver.
This stone goddess from forgotten times wore the moon crest in her hair itself, catching up, holding it, and keeping it from falling. Not that she’d ever move again, fixed in the rock.
“Did you cross Medusa’s path before I dealt with her?” The professor closed her eyes and crossed her arms. She could almost hear that mortal boy’s screams, what had his name been? Ah, yes, Perseus. How he’d wailed and cried, fighting to break free from Hermes’s grip.
“I won’t do it, do you hear me? You can’t make me! I love her! I love her!”
Foolish mortal, as if he’d even known what love was. He’d been quick enough to lop off his beloved’s head, to console himself over her loss in the arms of his Andromeda.
Nothing would ever console Athena, even though she’d been the one who’d manipulated and coerced the boy into picking up the blade. She still missed Medusa centuries later, but she’d done what had to be done.
*Exactly what I’d expect from an Olympian.* The soft, sad murmur whispered to the professor’s mind, even though no one else could hear the statue’s voice. *You accuse us of being monsters, yet you’re no less monstrous yourselves, particularly to those you love.”
“What would you know of love?” The professor was curious, in spite of herself. What tales did this ancient have to reveal? What secrets would she spill?
*More of a gentler nature than what beats in your breast. I simply kissed my beloved to sleep.* The statue could not lift her head or regard her with disapproval, but the professor could hear the reproach in her voice. *You slaughtered yours.*
“Not always. Not by choice.” Pallas…it still hurt to hear of her childhood sweetheart, whom she’d accidentally slain. It irritated her that the loveliest of maidens had been changed by spiteful minstrels into a randy he-goat who’d tried to violate her as an example of the fate of those who threatened her chastity. No one wanted to believe the Goddess of Wisdom had once loved another girl in her youth. Nor had it been the last time. “Now I share my love in the form of wisdom with all whom are willing to listen. I haven’t killed anyone in centuries.”
*You could, if someone roused the old anger in you.* The soft reproach became an accusation. *If another Medusa, another Arachne, or another Paris was to cross your path, you might well kill again.*
Would she? It had been so long since she’d felt such rage. She liked her quiet life, surrounded by books, where the most violent thing was raised voices in debate. She wasn’t Ares, for all that she could use his favorite tools against him.
*You might, too, if someone released you from the stone.* The professor let this truth fall. *Olympians may have become monsters because we had to, in order to defeat the ones who’d swallow us whole if we didn’t.*
After all, no one could deny what Cronos had done, had driven his own son to do. The Titans had laid the bloody path which the Olympians would later follow.
*Yes, there was a reckoning for all we did.* For a moment, the statue’s eyes seemed to widen, even though that was impossible, or was it? *Beware. Someday there may be one for you.*
The statue fell silent, content with these last words. As well she should be. The former Goddess of Wisdom turned professor couldn’t help but shiver in response.
Every action had consequences. The Olympians were, indeed, due for a reckoning, if they weren’t in the middle of one now.
Which was better? To be conquered and overthrown? Or to be demonified, replaced, and eventually forgotten?
In the end, the Titans might have been the lucky ones.
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