I wandered the empty streets of Pompeii, their silence deafening in my ears. Volcanic ash brushes the tips of my ears, the rise of my cheeks. I let it dirty me. This was, after all, the consequences of my actions.
My sandals were silent in the charred snow, a pilgrim with nowhere to pray. Within the hollow homes were set tables for a meal, gone; laughter and the call of people in the streets, a distant memory; the silence of the lyre and loom, stolen away from their creativity.
It was an accident. A foolish accident borne on the need to show off, such as adolescents do. I should have thought it through properly.
Zeus and I got into many…many heated arguments when we were younger. I do not know why, to tell the truth. It was not like that with our other brothers and sisters. We had started by…
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