"I USED TO DINE WITH THE GODS. UPON OLYMPUS. ABOVE THE HEAVENS. I STILL REMEMBER THE TASTE OF THEIR FEASTS ACROSS THE BACK OF MY THROAT. IT IS WHY THIS PUNISHMENT IS SO JUST. NOT EVEN A SHADOW OF THAT SATISFACTION MAY PASS THROUGH MY LIPS NOW. I USED TO DINE WITH THE GODS."
"Until you fed them your son. That's why you're here now, right?"
"IS THAT WHAT THEY TOLD YOU? PERHAPS I DID. PERHAPS I STOLE A PLATE OF AMBROSIA FROM THE KITCHENS. OR PERHAPS I ONLY QUESTIONED WHAT THE GODS WOULD DO TO US TOO LOUDLY. HISTORY IS WRITTEN BY THOSE WHO ARE LOUDEST. EVEN THIN AS THEY ARE NOW, THEIR VOICES SHOUT MY NAME ACROSS THE CENTURIES."
"So did you? Try and feed Pelops to Zeus? Cut him up and make him into a stew?"
"PERHAPS. WHY DOES IT MATTER?"
"I don't know. Because I want to know. Because I want to hear you more."
"PERHAPS I DID KILL MY SON. CUT HIM UP, AND FED HIM TO THE GODS. DEMETER TOOK A BITE YOU KNOW. MOURNING, SHE WAS, FOR HER DAUGHTER WHO DISCOVERED SHE ENJOYED THE POWER OF HAVING A HUSBAND WHO LOVES HER COLD IRON EMBRACE. BUT CAN YOU BLAME ME?"
"Of course I can blame you. You're a murderer. You killed your son just to prove a point."
"YES, LITTLE ONE, YES. I DID. BUT HOW MANY STORIES OF ZEUS DO YOU KNOW OF, WHERE HE COMES DOWN FROM HIS MOUNTAIN AND RAPES AND STEALS AND LIES? HOW MANY STORIES OF ARTEMIS' ARROWS AND HOUNDS HAVE YOU HEARD? SO, YES. PERHAPS I DID KILL MY SON AND FEED HIM TO THE GODS. BUT CAN YOU BLAME ME? AT LEAST I DID IT FOR A REASON. THE GODS SLAY THOUSANDS IN THEIR SLEEP. THEY HAVE NEVER NEEDED JUSTIFICATION FOR THEIR CRIMES. THEY ARE GODS. AT LEAST THE DEATH OF MY SON HAD A POINT. SHARP ENOUGH TO CUT THEIR PRIDE, OH YES."
"The point? What point?"
"THAT THE ONLY DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A MORTAL AND A GOD IS OUR GRIEF. A GOD CAN FIX EVERY MISTAKE, WITH POWER OR WITH TIME. A MORTAL MUST SIMPLY GO ON AND REGRET IT. ODYSSEUS AND ACHILLES. THESEUS AND JASON. ALL OF THE GODS SOUGHT TO CLAIM THEM AS THEIR GET. ALL THEIR DIVINITY DID IS MAKE THEIR MORTAL BLOODS RUN HOTTER."
"You said the gods were gone, earlier. Are they really?"
"OH, CHILD. ALL THOSE SEDUCTIONS AND SAVAGERIES? THE WARS AND THE WIDOWS AND THE WIVES? WHERE DO YOU THINK THEY ARE? SPREAD SO THIN AMONGST ALL OF YOU. LIKE OLIVES, THRICE AGAIN PRESSED, NOTHING LEFT BUT BITTER, USELESS REMNANTS OF WHAT WAS ONCE THE BOUNTY OF OLYMPUS. GODHOOD RUNS THROUGH EVERY VEIN IN THE WORLD NOW. IT IS WHY I AM GLAD TO BE HERE."
"You are?"
"AT LEAST I KNOW THE SHAPE OF MY TORMENT. THE WEIGHT OF MY GRIEF. HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE YOU KNEW WHO YOU WERE? TOO MUCH GODHOOD NOW FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY. LIKE ALL THE WINE IN THE WORLD WATERED DOWN WITH EVERY DROP OF OCEAN. YOU ARE MADE OF THE CRUEL HISTORIES IN YOUR BLOOD. I AM SORRY. I AM SORRY. I AM SO, SO SORRY."
