I let a stream of invective fly from my mouth, incoherent and venomous, like a stream of burning arrows dipped in poison. I directed them at Theseus, calling him things I did not know I had the words for, but I foamed with anger for Minos, as well, and even for Poseidon—these men, these gods who toyed with our lives and cast us aside when we had been of use to them, who laughed at our suffering or forgot our existence altogether.
