The Last Ballad of Olympus: The Waltz of the Vulture and Owl

Nymph of the Gray Shade

Lulling along with the sparrows' morning praise, fair Athena seized her moment by putting the dog into a tender slumber.

Once more, the clouds were blue, and the sun peaked on his glory. The gloomy days were gone with the passing rain, leaving only a little twinkling of hope.

"I never knew how lovely the outside walls of the megaron were," Athena murmured as she stared at the framework on top of the ionic columns.

The background was of the palest blue, while other inlays were gold. There were the symbols that represented the Olympus. And for the first time, she complimented how Ares styled his abode—quite far from the typical monotonous of his dwelling inside the heavenly Olympian palace.

"Who could have thought a brute like him would dare to choose the downiest shades for his domicile? I wonder how many moons he already stayed here?" Before her thoughts divert, a sudden flash of the pomegranate appeared—poking through like an unrest spirit.

She gasped, causing the dog to stare at her in worry.

"I—I'm sorry, my dear." She told him, gently brushing his head. "I just felt a little critter crawling under my feet. Please do forgive me."

The dog just shoved off the surprise and rubbed his head against her arm, telling her there was no need for an apology.

Contented, the maiden ordered him to rest once more as she leaned back into the strong trunk of the tree—staring at the rows of columns that served as frames of the megaron. She could not conceive vividly that such beauty could contain a sinister atmosphere on its belly. The whole structure was the truest quintessence of the statement, a wolf in sheep's clothing, for its magnificence was the abode of the fiendish trinity that only held on to their greed without thinking of the consequence.

Because of their pride and arrogance, Hellas paid the price.

"I wish they had killed me like the others—" She pondered in a melancholic voice, only to alert the dog that whimpered at her statement. "But I am glad they did not, for I might not have met a dearie like you." She then smiled at him, reassuring him that no more misery should halt her from learning the new life forced upon her. "I am glad—" She continued, now observing the calm little waves of the pond, "that they did not end me. Look at this beauty—if I was gone like the others, I might not see this little paradise.

The earth circled on Helios's form as it relied its whole weight on the back of Atlas. Time moved forward, and the only thing that looked back was the guilt and wonderment of what one could have been if one had done it before. I thought being a deity was hard, but now I have misjudged that being a mortal was ruthless. Life was caving on you, and there was no certainty whether tomorrow would be better or not, regardless of how well you have made during the present. Although a painful reality—that is— I have, indeed, learned for just days of being a mere woman that it was much better to absolve those individuals who are bitter towards you. I would rather sleep with a light soul than inflict the same heavy circumstance on others. The notion of control was only pliable when I was a goddess, but now I have no authority. I would prefer to conceal myself amongst the conventional men and women.

I now wonder what mortal works I should begin with my new life?"

With wonderment deepening in her head, she lingered on many possibilities—thinking of escaping the area and finding little work despite the place seeming so foreign.

"That would be better than being chained under the tenacity of those—deities. A better resortment to be out of their sight." She lowly spat yet regained her noble poise as she remembered her vow of clemency.