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my mama was no one’s possession.
Titans fear us and try to control that power, but a woman’s love is her wings. We can soar high, higher than the gods.”
Whereas Bronte and Cleora had set chores, I did whatever needed to be done, which was usually what no one else would do.
she moved with a measured grace that radiated temperance. She wasn’t a dancer—though she played the lyre beautifully—but her internal tempo was steadfast. Watching her work was mesmerizing, like observing the waves of the sea, constant and purposeful.
Nothing stunk of civilization quite like the city.
The gods’ choices affected mortals every day, and stars, that was tiresome.
As Prometheus says, ‘I prepare, for one day my opportunity will come.’”
“Fate works in mysterious ways. By the hand of faith, we are guided to our destiny. The journey is the trial.”
“Reading your future was like gripping a star.”
Challenging Cronus, and triumphing, would require strength that I didn’t possess. In order to get Cleora back, I would need the aid of a formidable ally, someone powerful enough to dethrone the God of Gods. I needed a Titan.
only possession we had from our father’s family. She was given it at birth, a tradition.
“The gods aren’t people.” “Perhaps that’s where you’re most mistaken,” Theo said, his voice gentle. “They’re just as mortal as you and me.” “Except they’re immortal.” “If Zeus was mortal, would you overlook his weaknesses?”
perhaps I had dismissed the goddess of love too quickly. After all, love takes many shapes in a woman’s heart.
“Do you think he knows?” I posed. “Knows what?” “How handsome he is?”
“Go ahead. It’s humorous, isn’t it? I’m the only child Rhea managed to save from her dastardly husband, and I’m the worst Titan ever born.” “Self-pity doesn’t suit you.” “Oh, but it’s so tempting.”
“Do you always do that?” “Do what?” “Minimize your accomplishments? Remind people of your faults?” “Help me remember who just said he’s the worst Titan ever born?”
“I’ll shrink myself for no one. The chance of finding one’s equal is rare.”
“As part of the spring hecatomb,” she explained, “we burn a rose as a sacrificial representation of ourselves, Gaea’s creations. And we ask Aphrodite to forgive our shortcomings, replacing our sorrow with her love.” She passed us each a rose. “Would you like to join in?”
“It’s a renewal. All souls carry burdens. Let them go, and open yourself up to new beginnings.”
Death was circumstantial. The soul lived forever.
