A Blighted Daybreak

Quivered hands were as cold as ice. Fingers stiffened as Athena's eyes cried more beading tears like the gushing falls of Olympus. Under the warmth of his palm were no comfort—only an irksome ruse and lies. 

If the bed was as soft as the rose petal, Ares was the single large thorn—stabbing through her skin with hidden poison, blighting her blood until she vied to despair. 

Athena was a broken diamond, shivering under the glare of the god of war, who she never knew looked down at her with pity. 

"Owl—" She heard him call with a voice purring in concern and hands that clasped on hers to makeshift some relief. 

Oh, how his heat infuriated her. A sly snake coiled around from head to foot. It was ironic that the common knowledge dictated that snakes were one of her intimates—but with a snake, like Ares, the owl did not heed to such a predicament. 

Repeating his call, Athena finally looked up.

Her silver eyes were shadowed with grief, and her face pale, wearing away the colors he remembered were present last night. Ares slowly broke at how she looked and felt helpless as he could only study the lines of bitterness on those features. 

"I—I can explain all that had happened." He said, grasping her cold hands more. 

But Athena was taking no more lies. 

Before he could speak another sentence, she assertively pulled herself away from him, sprinted out through the secret door, and back to the main entrance of the whole interior—crying in pain and ignoring the prying eyes that might see her naked body. 

She no longer cared about the dignity she guarded for a long time. 

Eons of hymns dedicated to her—praising her chaste and wise disposition that many ladies were required to emulate—were all but dull songs that lost their meaning. In a twist of harsh eventide, she unknowingly became the belladonna that satisfied an unquenched thirst for one time—one time. 

Her wails echoed like a blistering howl of a slaughtered bird. Ares reached out again, but his owl flew, singing an agonizing song. 

Feet became an entity of their own, forcing a deviation away from the torture the walls of the megaron subjected her to. 

She was like a feral who had lost her mind and only had the mercy of nature as her last resort.

With eyes still stinging from tears, the first streak of light was no aid. Blinded and maimed, Athena could only hear what seemed to be birds in the air and the feel of muddy earth on her soles—slowing her pace. She knew not of the place she dreaded herself in, but the smell of morning dew and strong earthy aroma made her think of the outside world she yearned to trod. 

Once her eyes cleared, the sight of vast greens welcomed her with violet flowers swarming like a white sea foam that caused chaos along the harmony of the big blue sea. Despite the loud pounding of her heart, Athena bravely walked towards the overgrown yard—not minding what other traps lay concealed under the thickets. But none was living, only feeling the wet earth with small pebbles along its mixture. 

Though the early winds were crisp, Athena was more comfortable under its swift wings than the burning hearth inside the megaron, where it consented to a masquerade of madness. She walked towards uncertainty, traversing the mystifying and large area that seemed to be only inhabited by the flora. 

Brambles and briars were everywhere. Lovely flowers were present but only had a few varieties and uniform colors: the violets composed the majority, there were roses of white, and peonies that no longer had the blush but the shade of mellow flesh. It was an odd ensemble. Athena finds the whole place not a paradise but a camp. The area was no nursery of new budding sprouts, for birds would not even dare to drop a seedling. 

Somehow, she would rather have her presence there than return inside. 

Athena continued to explore the area's vastness, and with her frail but determined vitality and sobs that still skirmished her lungs, she finally saw a pond amidst the follies. She ran towards it, and when she plunged deep into its waters, she was surprised at how clean it was despite fathoming that the whole place was left untouched for who knows how long. 

She bathed rigorously—violently scrubbing her whole body to rid off the filth of Ares's lust. She cried once more when she realized his scent would not go away. He was now part of her—and a part of her was now with him. Trying once more in blind hope, she scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin throbbed and new wounds emerged. 

With no luck betted on her shoulders, the god of war had successfully imprinted himself on her with an iron grip. There was no escape, no loophole she could squeeze into. 

How could the pomegranate be now the symbol of hurt? Of anguish? 

Athena drowned herself in sorrows—battering her body with more scrubs despite the optimism of releasing herself from the residual touches of the past night's amorous affair was a fading thin line. 

Gradually losing her strength, the silver-eyed maiden gave up and surrendered to the slow waves of the pond and rested her head on the banks. 

Throbbing, bewildered, and hopeless—Athena became a woman with abysmal misery. She lost everything with a snap of a finger. Not even her chastity was spared from the misfortune. There were no moments that convinced her of a better beginning except to forcefully accept her fate that she was not just a mere mortal woman but a one-time Ares's scarlet woman. A heathen title looked down as if she was still with the ranks of deities. 

"I do not want to live like this anymore." She moaned while she clasped her hands to her chest—feeling her heart and crying as her body still felt every touch and bruise of the god of war's love bites and other incomprehensible ardors.

No sooner than later, the heaven heard her—petrifying the sun on its throne when a fat nimbus cloud drew closer along with the rapid change of breeze. Blues became gray that was dark like her obscured eyes. With soft clouds pushed out, the nimbus brought another drizzle of rain and a breeze colder than the morning fog. The heaven cried with her, flooding the earth with its tears.

A day of sunshine was not in jubilance. Rainfall then came in and turned into hasty drops as the maiden vacantly stared and wailed at the disturbing ripples of the pond. And with no lingering thought except for bitterness, the former goddess faded back into slumber—slumped on the banks with her head quietly resting on one arm. 

***

Standing by his large window overseeing a rainy and foggy morning, he stayed quiet—pondering about last night and what would happen in the coming days. 

Cloaked in the deepest blue with patterns of squares on its lining and florals on top, he masked the body that conquered the once chaste goddess. His expression remained rigid, but his soul was celebrating. However, such bliss only lasted a minute when he could not excuse himself to worry about her situation. 

Although Ares's face was still the same handsome and prideful bearing, his eyes could not bury his true emotion. Fists clenched, gripping with anger as one hand pounded on the window frame as if it had erred against him. But with his infantile skill to think thoroughly of a plan, he started to hate himself. 

"I should have not let her go." He murmured, glaring at the rain and at the fog it caused. 

 He recalled once more his reason that he was supposed to tell her. He rewound in time the moment he awoke. He could have just not waited for her to react and told her immediately why last night happened. But look what happened now—the result of his roguery was swooping winds and blows of rattling earth with his chances to at least be someone she could trust rolled down on the hill. He hated to admit it, but his roused emotion got the best of his senses. But remembering how she cried and the mournful look on her face, Ares could not help but be secretly hurt. 

Last night was a blur that even he could not remember what happened on the bed. Aphrodite's elixir was something not to be reckoned with. He only remembered what he did beforehand—the wine, the pomegranate, and the secret room he had prepared. The rest was like a montage of withered frescos. Although, he did recollect the heat emitted from Athena's flesh. 

Regardless of the turmoil, one thing that he would never forget was her soft lips that said nothing but sang a melody that would come to haunt him. 

"Anubis was arrogant to have requested Athena for himself." He growled, frowning at the soldier's repulsive contract with Enyo. 

Before the formal words reached him, he had already guessed Enyo and Eris's plan for Athena. He knew of the first idea they reconsidered that Athena was to be displayed like a servitude captive as they waited for the highest bid from Etruscan lords who desired to bed with her. 

But in came a far better opportunity—

Anubis placed a deal that the goddesses could not resist. 

Born with affluence—Anubis was not just a simple soldier but an heir to the rich lands in the north. Nevertheless, his family's great wealth came lingering behind questionable deeds to gain more profit. Plunder and besieged debtors were the backbone of the opulence of his family. Not to mention the perfect lies and crimes they had committed to stay on top of the pyramid. 

Everyone in Pupluna City knew of the tales that bejeweled the family of Enyo's favorite soldier. There was also the rumor—might have been correct—that Paphnoutios of Luxor, Anubis's father, frequently and fruitfully blockaded and pillaged fleets of merchant sails and mercilessly took over with the riches. Authorities could never sentence the patriarch, for many chose to bribe and let everything drift into the breeze. 

Hence, the soldier's ego was large—making it easy for him to gain approval from Enyo and Eris for his payola to have Athena in exchange for ships. 

Anubis's pomposity angered Ares—triggering a bedeviled action from the god of war himself. 

And much like him, great wisdom and fair opinion were not of the two goddesses' niche—as walls have ears and winds do speak the secret meant to be chained. When proven right of his presumption, the god gave false consent and asked them for details of what they had thoroughly planned. 

Little did Enyo and Eris know that Ares gained the upper hand in their doltish game.