Ariadne

by Jennifer Saint

“You do not understand what being a god means,” he said, at length. “It means you will have an eternity after we are gone. Perhaps you should think of that,” I said softly. His head snapped up toward me. “I think of nothing else!” He stood, looking too tall for the small space, all of a sudden a caged creature, restless and prowling its confines. “Being a god and loving mortals means nothing more than watching them die. I know that all too well. Every time I see my children learn a new skill, acquire a new word, take another step away from us, I see their shadows drifting in Hades’ halls years from now, beyond my reach. You as well—one day nothing but smoke and ashes.” The passion in his voice subsided, but his words remained just as cruel. “Can you blame me for thinking it better to garner the love of a thousand mortals instead, to hold the adoration of a city instead of one consort’s frail, mortal flesh?” I turned my face away from him. I would not let him see the tears in my eyes. “You have always known this,” I reminded him. “You told me once that one lifetime of human love was worth the loss.” “I was a fool,” he said.