The Book of Myths

The Queen

Queen of queens, Goddess of the heavens

When we were young, he was so very charming. He brought me flowers that smelled of rain, that crackled with lightning when I brushed the little blue petals. He told me that I was beautiful, that I was the finest creature that walked the Earth. I knew flattery when I saw it, and there was something cracked behind the hurricane gaze. I was there when he coloured the room gold with our father's blood, and I saw his smile. His laughter as he raised the hatchet again and again. His smile was a fractured, manufactured thing, and the flaw grew with every rejection.

Lady of marriage, patroness of women

Patience was never my husband's strong suit. Why court your queen when you can catch her like an animal, and shame her into being yours?

I was a lovely, elegant and refined on a silver throne next to the King. Bright hair fell across bare shoulders like the brush of fingertips, a white gown rippling to my feet like starlight. So much power, so much divinity held in pale hands, and yet I could do nothing as my dearest husband slept with every pretty little nymph, human and goddess that caught his eye.

Lady of revenge, lady of ruin

So, I played my games. I settled scores. Take Hercules for your example. Dearest husband named his favoured, golden son in my honour. So I drove him to madness and guided his hand on his knife. Sweet Megara, the little children; they weren't the focus of my wrath. But they were in the way.

I forced Io to travel across the world when she won my husband's favour. I barred silver-eyed Leto from giving birth on any land (her twins still glare daggers as sharp as their arrows). All his conquests, all my quarry.

Goddess of agony, goddess of chain

Once, just once, I fought back. We bound him, the too-powerful brute with the devil's charms. We trapped him, and when he escaped, I was punished. Hung like a painting, chains of gold suspending me from the stars.

They will tell you that I cried, that I begged for forgiveness. I didn't. I grit my teeth, like I did every drunken night, and bared it.

Twin bracelets of scars still circle my wrists, jarring and ugly. Reminds me of his hands.

Queen of queens, goddess of the heavens

They call me cruel. They call me jealous. They paint me in colours of envy and rage. The mother of a monster, the mother of a thug.

And yet, they remember my name.