Before the affair, before the child, before the murder…

What had there been, come to think of it? Her life had been complicated for so long, she couldn’t remember the ‘befores’. Just how to stop from getting herself or the child killed…neither, it seemed, worked out very well, as here she was, at the knife-point of a god…her god, though apparently not hers anymore. He had a wild, savage look in his eye.

“I’m sorry, beauty, but Hera…Hera…” and with that he smashed the knife right into the ground right next to her neck. She flinched, nicking herself on the impossibly sharp blade.

“I killed him, I killed him,” she sobbed quietly, over and over. “Why? I killed him…”

“No,” he said ruefully, “You didn’t. And Hera saw the statue, and now…I must…must…kill you.” He didn’t sound particularly upset, just determined and-did she detect a hint of bored? She sobbed louder.

And as the knife plummeted, she remembered:

Before, there was Acantheus.

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