Chapter Text
PRAXIS
It is a strange age when the universe turns on itself. No law of physics is left unbroken, no man, or beast, or god is spared their reckoning. The winds blow in from afar, reeling with frantic whispers and dying prayers. It is an age of death and an age of birth, as the heavens shift and groan. The weight of millennia is shed away in cosmic roars and the Earth stirs from its ancient slumber. It is an age of secrets and an age of truth.
It is an age of chaos.
But the human heart endures. The human heart must always endure.
…
In the silver halls of high Olympus, towering above the mortal world in a feat of spectacular power that broke no less than four laws of physics, the mighty thrones of the Dodekatheon(1) stood empty and cold. They were glittering, regal things, humming with the power of the cosmos, every inch a subtle expression of proud disdain. There were twelve in total, curving like a U around a central hearth; a roaring fire the size of a house, but radiating warmth and a distant sense of belonging.
Here, by this hearth, stood two of the great gods: Zeus, Giver of Signs, Father of Gods and Men, Lord of the Thunderbolt and his gentle sister Hestia, First and Last, Keeper of the Sacred Fire.
The Thunderer stared into the flames, deep in thought. His oiled beard shone in the orange light.
“Are we truly doomed to repeat the same old patterns?” he asked, his voice a soft rumble.
His sister smiled softly. “Only if we allow ourselves too.”
“We are not mortal,” Zeus replied. There was finality in his tone, and perhaps helplessness too. He would never admit to being afraid. Nor would he acknowledge that mortals had been given an enviable lot.
Hestia peered up at Zeus with flickering, flame-filled eyes, a question in her steady gaze. “So what will you do, my Lord?”
Zeus sighed deeply and the air around him crackled with electricity. “It is time to remind my brethren of exactly that. We are gods, and we must act as much.”
And so, as dawn broke over the East Coast, thunder and lightning burned the air high above Manhattan and the Council of the Gods convened.
…
Theodora snuffed out her last cigarette beneath sole of her well-worn boot. She wasn’t proud that she smoked. She definitely didn’t think it was cool like some of the stupider kids at her school. It was a bad habit that she’d picked up from her father who himself had never been sober enough to notice a few missing bogeys.
There was a biting chill to the October wind, and she hugged her bare arms tightly trying to preserve what little warmth she could. She wouldn’t be standing here very long anyways.
She hadn’t dressed smart. Of course, the point had never been to dress smart. Still, she pressed herself back against the glass doors of her apartment building, trying to soak in what little warmth made its way outside.
Finally, she heard the tell-tale sound of a car engine from down the road. A red Mustang, rather garishly painted, rumbled to a stop in front of her. The passenger side window slid down without a sound and her landlord, a rather unpleasant man who went by Derek, smiled up at her.
“Well don’t be shy darling, get in.” He winked at her.
Theodora’s insides roiled in disgust. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to run. She wanted to knee Derek in the groin and kick the headlights out of his car. Instead, forcing her revulsion down, she opened the door and slid in.
The seat of the car was so low, she could barely see over the pavement in front of them. She slid even lower to make herself seem smaller and pointedly refused to tug on the seatbelt. It would just be something to slow her down if she needed a quick getaway. Of course, she couldn’t exactly outrun a guy in a car but she clung desperately to that hope.
“Hey, don’t be so tense. It’ll be great, you’ll see,” he said in a pathetic attempt to reassure her.
Theodora looked away, pointed focusing on the rising moon, as they ripped out of the parking lot and down the road. She was acutely aware of every breath the man beside her was taking, his every little movement, every tick-tick-tick of the indicator, and every detail about the car’s interior. A filthy pair of fuzzy dice that might have been white once hung from the rear-view mirror. The car was otherwise clean, impeccably so, but something still felt off. There was a Febreze attached to the air vent, but it had clearly run out a very long time ago because the car smelled like stale sex. She knew, immediately for some reason, that he’d picked up a hooker the night before and he had almost choked the life out of the poor girl in the backseat. The thought made her fingers curl into trembling fists as her heart rattled in her ribcage. Would he choke the life out of her too?
Theodora almost jumped out of her seat when a hand came down to rest on her thigh. She stared at it, not daring to look up. There was a switch blade in her back-pocket, and it took all her restraint to not stab him. Her leg felt numb and foreign. Like she was looking at someone else. Someone else’s hand, someone else’s leg. Derek’s hand, her leg. No, no, no, she wanted to throw herself out of the car. Moving or not. No, what had she been thinking? She didn’t – she couldn’t – she—
The hand was moving. She felt sick. Sick to her stomach. Why were her hands so sweaty? She had wanted to this. She had taken up his offer.
The car pulled into another parking lot. The moon was high in the sky. It was large and bright tonight. Beautiful, very beautiful. The hand was moving upwards now, fiddling with the zip on her jeans. The other hand came up to tilt her face. She closed her eyes. She wanted to cry.
Soon, he dragged her into the backseat. It was awkward and the angles were all wrong.
It hurt. It hurt. It hurt so much.
Her eyes were blurry with tears but she kept her gaze at the moon, it’s light muted through the tinted windows. She stared at its silver face and reminded herself that she had no other choice. There were bills to pay. The rent was just too high. Her dad had been fired. He wasn’t in a good place. She couldn’t quit school to get another job. They’d be out on the streets otherwise. Besides, two more years and she would have her diploma. Three more years and she would legally be an adult. She’d get out of this miserable town. She’d go somewhere far away.
She kept looking at the moon, imagining what life could be like. She was far away now. Somewhere better. Somewhere kinder. ‘Please,’ she thought, looking up, desperate, praying almost. ‘Take me somewhere else.’
But miracles are hard to come by.
Derek dropped her off in front of her complex afterwards. He was smiling. Told her not to worry about rent.
“I’ll let it slide this time darling.” He grinned, his gaze lingering.
She wanted to peel her skin off.
…
Her dad was a good man. He wasn’t abusive or anything. He was just sick sometimes and too proud to get help. Instead he would drown himself in a bottle of whatever was closest and pass out somewhere between the couch and his bedroom. But he wasn’t a bad man.
He loved Theodora. He wanted the best for her. But sometimes, on the bad days, when he was in a drunken stupor, he would call her “Delilah” instead. He’d yell at her, screaming, begging, crying. Why did you leave me?
Today was not a bad day.
“Theodora? Is that you?” a slurred voice called out.
“Yeah dad.” Her voice shook. Emotional clogged her throat, making it hard to speak. “I was doing homework at a friend’s house.”
“That’s a good girl. D’you want dinner?”
She didn’t have an appetite. The thought of food made her gag. The taste of Derek’s mouth was still fresh in hers.
“No, dad. I ate already.”
There was silence.
She quickly sped into the bathroom and locked the door before collapsing by the toilet. She finally let out the sobs she had been holding back for so long. Loud, gut-wrenching, ugly ones too. Makeup ran down her face along with snot.