Only when Hippolyte pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead and asked two simple questions, did she feel so enraged that she knew she had to speak again. “What did I do wrong?” she asked. “Why was I not enough?” Penthesilea’s fury was as hot and dangerous as smelted iron on skin, and she made no attempt to cool it. “You? It was not you who was not enough. You were too much for him, Sister. Always too much. Too strong. Too powerful. Too smart. Too compassionate. Too brave. Too loving. He tried to knock these wonderful qualities out of you and bring you down to his level, but he could not
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