Hope - 1. Hope

“A woman has to take care of her family,” Pandora instructed as she gently stirred the pot of grain. The subtle curls in her sunshine-gold hair bounced ever so slightly as the steam from that night’s meal reached with pining fingers for the sky. “She has to clothe them and feed them and make sure they’re happy well before she even thinks about herself. It’s just the nature of things, Pyrrha, and I know you don’t like to think of it that way, but that’s how it simply must be.”

The girl pursed her lips in a thoughtful expression, even though she was inwardly pouting. “But mother…”

Pandora turned and gave her a sharp look. Pyrrha flushed and looked down, and her mother shifted those piercing blue eyes back to the roiling pot, which glowed a rusty brown in the lazily flickering light of the fire that crackled below it. Uncle’s fire, Pyrrha reminded her wandering thoughts. The fire he’d taken from the great Hestia herself, then given to all mankind to make life in Greece a whole lot easier than it had been before.

A dreamy smile crossed over the maiden’s rosy lips. What she wouldn’t give to be just like her uncle and all the heroes out there, running around having adventures, being exciting and never having to stay home and raise a boring family all on their own, and with a man, no less. But unfortunately, she was stuck and no matter how much she tried to wriggle away, Pandora always found a way to keep her in line.

And in Pyrrha’s view, it sucked.

As if reading her mind, Pandora let an exasperated sigh escape her perfect lips. Woman of the gods, her mother was. Pyrrha rolled her eyes. “Honestly, sweetheart…sometimes I’m not sure what I’m to do with you,” Pandora began. Her words were soft, almost musical, but the girl knew these tricks that her mother so liked to play. “All I want is the best for you and your future. I don’t understand why you have to make such a fuss about the way things are going to be.”

The older woman’s voice quivered and her cerulean eyes misted as if forming the head of a string of tears. Pyrrha frowned, determined not to be sucked in but like everything else in that goodness forsaken hole of a house, she was just destined to be trapped in another clever nook that her mother pushed her into.

Reluctantly, the girl sighed. “I’m sorry, mother.”

Pandora pursed her lips. “Are you now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Mm.”

“What is it now?” Pyrrha took a step closer. Unlike her mother, she bore no gifts from the gods, but she was just as beautiful, if an opposite of the woman who bore her. Ebony black hair rivaled sunlight-lightened gold, the palest, porcelain skin was overshadowed by a beautiful, tanned glow, eyes as brown as the deepest soil in all of Greece met bravely the lightest blue of the Mount Olympus skies—in no other case could mother and daughter be so different. But alas, in their differences, they were also alike. Pyrrha refused to admit it, but she still had her mother’s heart, her cunning, the desire to be something she was not meant to be. For though Pandora pushed it away, Pyrrha had heard enough stories from her father to know that Pandora had made a few not-so-clever choices in her lifetime as well. Pyrrha lived for these stories; she thrived off them, stocking each and every one of them away to use as fuel against her mother who refused to acknowledge that any child of hers would even want to have a dream outside their cozy little hut. Steadfast little Pyrrha was loathe to be held in place, though, so of course she wouldn’t give up. And this moment was no different.

“Pyrrha? Are you listening to me?”

The girl’s head snapped up, her hair flipping around her like shadows startled by a sudden burst of flame. “Of course I’m listening. Goodness, mother, you always accuse me of things I haven’t done!”

Pandora narrowed her eyes and their striking depths darkened to a near-twilight blue. “Watch your tone with me, young lady.”

“Why should I?” Pyrrha’s own eyes flashed in defiance. “Why should I do anything you ask, mother? You’re such a hypocrite, you know. Telling us that we can’t be individuals when that’s all you ever did when you were younger.”

Silence filled the room, and Pyrrha braced for the lash that was sure to come…except it didn’t. Pandora simply turned back to her pot and continued stirring, and Pyrrha couldn’t stand it any longer.

“You’re such a liar!” she cried, her voice shrill yet sharper than daggers as her rage built within her. “I can’t believe that you’re my mother! Of all the people in this world, why do you have to be my parent? It doesn’t make sense!”

Pyrrha stormed over to Pandora and loomed imposingly right before her eyes. “I don’t get it! You had dreams once. You knew what it was like to be someone you didn’t want to be. Your goddamned father gave you a box that you wanted to open so badly and you could have! But why didn’t you, mother? Was it because you were too much of a daddy’s girl?”

Pandora’s eyes flashed and she whirled on her only daughter. “Hush now, or you’ll anger him! You do not want Zeus on your tail, little girl. So mind your manners!”

This only made Pyrrha seethe more. “Aha, I was right!” With ferocity, she shoved at her mother’s shoulders and Pandora stumbled back, almost knocking over the grain pot. “You are a daddy’s girl! Always sucking up to the big man, always wanting to be that perfect little daughter. Well here’s something you didn’t know, mother—I’m not you!”

After a long pause, Pandora returned softly, with a cold, cruel anger building in her words, “I don’t care if you’re not me, Pyrrha,” muttered she, her fists clenched as tight as she could clench them. “I know you are not me. Nobody else could be me. Nobody else lives with the burdens I do, and I wouldn’t wish this upon them if I hated them to pieces. You speak Hades’ words. Perhaps you should go visit your great uncle for awhile and see if you appreciate me then!”

Pyrrha snorted. “Hades wouldn’t take me. I’m too much of a fool for him.”

Pandora shot her a cold look. “Don’t be foolish then, or I’ll request he feed you to Cerberus himself.”

The girl only snorted again.

“Pitiful,” the golden-haired woman sighed to herself. Her daughter huffed and jabbed her hands into her hips, working up the best glare she could manage. “I would have thought better of you, Pyrrha. Now go fetch me the last of the grain before your father brings your brother home. And remember—”

“Yeah, I know.” Pyrrha rolled her eyes. “Don’t open the box.”

~

“Stupid mother,” Pyrrha muttered as she trudged along the trail to the back. “Thinks she’s so perfect. Gods, why does she have to be the perfect one? Wish they’d given her an attitude check, too. Or even better, left her as clay under Hephaestus’s feet!”

The sky rumbled around her and Pyrrha flinched, pulling her shoulders up to her ear as a blast of wind lifted her hair from her shoulders. Wide, dark eyes met the flickering grey of a storming sky and porcelain lips parted ever so slightly at the caress of the wind. She had not noticed the storm until then, a fact that was obvious by how blatant she was with her words. Pyrrha narrowed her eyes and tightened her toga around her, the scratchy fabric teasing the sensitive skin of her hips and thighs like the playful fingers of a lover wanting more. But there was no lover; Pyrrha had never had one. Nor would she most likely, for she despised the touch of men, their sweaty hands, rough breath on the gentle skin of a woman. The girl shivered, but not from the sudden chill that sank around her family’s sprawling farm. Men…she said that word like it was a curse against all the gods of Olympus. But then again…

As the charcoal-haired daughter of Pandora neared the final bend in the trail, she drew pause not only in thought, but in step as well. Her lips parted as they often did in thought, her head tilting to a side. The wind, much gentler when she was sheltered from its dragging fingers, played at the slight ringlets at the very ends of her ashen hair. A far off rumble sounded, almost as if it were an echo of the maiden’s thoughts.

“But then again…” Pyrrha voiced this thought aloud, pacing unhurriedly over to an olive tree that was just pushing through to bloom. “Then again, a man is necessary for survival, I suppose. But what is a woman then, if not a means to reproduce? They cook and clean and raise families as well, but isn’t that all they are good for? I hope not.”

She turned from the tree, pulling a fluttering string of olive blossoms with her. Just before it touched the reaching strands of grass, she nimbly cupped a hand around it and drew it to her nose. It smelled of freshness and sunshine and dinner simmering in the early spring…and women. Pyrrha closed her eyes. The familiar scent of a woman lingered on the tiny petals, and though there was only one other to go off of, it was not a difficult scent to recognize. The flower had an innocence about it that no man could ever possess. Perhaps a boy could, yes, but there were no boys other than her brother in Greece that she knew of. To have a son you needed a woman, and to have a woman you needed the breath of the gods…

Pyrrha lifted her gaze to the roiling silver mess above her. Zeus was angry, perhaps, or maybe Demeter needed a shower for the plants to welcome her darling Persephone home from the Underworld. The girl smiled and slowly lowered her gaze again. She wished she could have a bond like Demeter and her daughter. It would be so nice to be close to the only other woman in this world…but alas, her mother wasn’t anything more than a fool.

Pyrrha’s heart hardened and she tossed the flower cluster to the ground. Fool, fool…fools everywhere! She had let herself wander in thought and just look where that got her! Nowhere, that’s where! It was going to rain and her mother was going to get upset and goodness, the gods knew what trouble she’d be in at that point. All thoughts from before shoved aside, Pyrrha slammed through the storage hut’s doors and mercilessly began rifling through the grain.

But what she found wasn’t what she expected at all.

“What the—” Pyrrha stepped up to the first box and tipped it off its pedestal. Her nimble fingers curled around the lip, she narrowed her eyes and reached to feel for the grain that was mysteriously no longer there anymore. “By the gods, don’t tell me it’s all gone!”

She moved to the next box, slid the lid off with a grating groan, and peeked inside. A flustered sigh escaped her lips. “Great, empty too,” she muttered and rocked the box back into place.

She moved to the third box, the last in the shed that they had. If her mother had lied to her and told her to do something that couldn’t be done, Pyrrha was going to pitch a fit. She was more than unimpressed right now and it showed as she shoved the box from its pedestal and ripped the lid clean off.

There was nothing but dust inside.

Pyrrha let out a frustrated scream and slammed the lid back on. As the box rocked back into place, she ripped and tore at her hair, pacing the length of the shed with fire in her eyes and snake’s venom dripping off her tongue. A crack of thunder echoed her raging thoughts just outside the hut, and in its drawn out comfort, she let herself scream again. But when the thunder ended, she didn’t stop this time. She only strengthened her breath and shrieked as hard as she could, falling to her knees as her lungs threatened to explode, screaming every ounce of frustration and anger out at the sky which could not be seen from within that well-constructed little room. Burning tears ran from the height of her scream and when she finally stopped, Pyrrha felt empty. But even so, she felt the need to explain.

“I just can’t stand it anymore,” she rasped, leaning to one side and collapsing on the floor with a sigh. “Mother, father, even my brother…they all think it’s so easy. But it’s not. It’s never been easy. I just wish they could see…”

The girl bowed her head and drew her knees to her chest. “I wish they’d see that I don’t want to be married. Gods, isn’t there anything you can do? Hermes, steal me away. Aphrodite, teach me how to seduce them into letting me be who I want to be. I mean, yes…I’m the daughter of the first woman, but I don’t want to be anymore. I’d rather be a man than trapped like this, and you all know how much I despise men.”

A stray tear fell from her face and she looked towards the sky again. “I promise I’m a good girl, and I know I could be a great wife, but I don’t want to be. I want to run free. I want to be a hero. Why am I told that I can’t be who I want to be? It just isn’t fair.”

“They all tell me I have to get married,” she continued after a breath. “Mother, father, the men around us. They look at me with these hungry eyes, like I’m a piece of fish from the sea that they just want to eat. It disgusts me, makes me feel like I’m a trapped animal with no future. Like I don’t even have the right to be who I want to be.” She shook her head and ran a hand through her shadow-black locks. “I’m tired of it, gods. Nobody else listens to me but you. Nobody else knows what I feel. That’s why I act out so badly, and now with this disaster with the grain…”

A gentle breeze wafted past and tickled at her cheek, almost as if consoling her. She allowed a small smile, but it was quickly weighed down by the bitterness of her thoughts. “And now with this disaster with the grain, I feel as if I can’t even be what I’m supposed to. Call me foolish if you will, but I’m being honest here. I suppose…”

She took a breath, closing her eyes against the chariot ride of emotions scattering themselves through her. “I suppose I’m just afraid of disappointing her.”

And then, the strangest thing happened. That tickling breeze almost seemed to grow real and Pyrrha could have sworn that it lifted her chin towards the very back of the hut. She opened her endless dark eyes in confusion, and the wind responded. With caressing fingertips, it pushed her forward and as if a dream, Pyrrha saw it: a glittering golden box shimmering in the faint light from the door she’d left ajar. Her eyes widened then narrowed and Pyrrha caught the meat of her lower lip in between her teeth. That was her mother’s box. Why would she leave it out here for anyone?

The wind whispered past her ear and suddenly Pyrrha was overwhelmed by an urge to pick it up. With trembling fingers, she reached forward, and the whispering grew more intense. She pulled back, and they softened, but she sensed a bit of hostility within the whispering whirls of air. Her heart began to creep along her throat, nervous fingers slipping in their hurry to warn her of impending danger, but the wind hissed and it slipped back down again. Pyrrha blinked and took a step back, but morbidly, she found she couldn’t.

“W-what’s…?” she began, but the wind growled softly and stole the breath from her throat. Pyrrha gasped and clawed at her neck, and an iron grip wrenched her hands away, dragging her forward. And suddenly, a whistling voice echoed in her ear.

“Touch it,” it sneered, “You know you really want to. Your mother is a liar, a cheater, she needsss to be punished in ssssome way…”

Pyrrha swallowed against the pressure.

“Don’t fight, little one. It will only get worssssse if you do not do what we ssssay.”

As best she could, she let out a strangled noise of agreement. A roar of thunder shook the ground beneath the girl and she let out a squeak of fear.

“Did we tell you to ssssspeak? Did we asssssk you to make noisssssse? NO, WE DID NOT!” The voices screamed in rage as the last words were vomited into the air. Pyrrha could feel that every single strand of her hair was completely whipped out of her face with the blast, and she couldn’t help but release a keen of terror. The hungry teeth of the wind’s vicious mouth were unbearably cold on her skin. She could feel her lashes frosting as they quivered in fear, her heart clamoring in her chest as if it were a rabbit trapped in the claws of a monster who desired the blood within its veins. Not only that, but the gusts stunk of unfamiliar things, rotten things, like the fruit her mother had left out for too long one time but an entire world and a half worse. Pyrrha gagged but the invisible force only tightened on her more, her throat aching with the sheer strength of its grip. Her muscles were screaming for release, the bitter sting of stomach acid rolling from her throat and across her tongue in awful waves of agony that she’d never felt before. The wind drew back for a moment almost as if it took pleasure in her pain, then without a warning, unceremoniously tossed her to the ground. Pyrrha cried out as she fell, a sickening crunch echoing through the flimsy hut. Again, the spirit paused, but this time another could be heard laughing in the background.

“Who…who are you?” Pyrrha called, her voice trembling in the shivering shadows. The hut had suddenly been sapped of light, and the darkness almost seemed to be feeding off her warmth and fear. “What do you want? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

A grating laugh stabbed into the young woman’s ear. She flinched and tried to pull away, but she had been anchored in place. “Ah, but your mother did, you ssssee. Sssssso we are here to help you punish her.”

She let out a cry. “P-punish her? No, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Pyrrha let out a garbled sob as the invisible hand gripped at her throat again. “WELL NECESSARY OR NOT, YOU ARE GOING TO OPEN THE BOX!” screeched the voice, shrieking like uncut nails on a slab of slate in an empty room of a marble hall. A spit bubble gurgled at the back of Pyrrha’s throat and with a suffocated whimper, she choked it out and cringed as it trickled down her chin. Almost as if disgusted, the grip threw her to the ground again and retreated.

But these voices, these spirits, these winds of horror were not finished yet. Pyrrha doubled over and coughed so hard she felt like her throat was being torn out. The copper taste of blood flooded over her tongue and she coughed again, harder. A splatter of crimson, black in the churning shadows of the hut, slapped itself to the floor in a still life portrayal of the damage that had been done. A maniacal laugh burst forth from the corner and leapt closer, jumping and skipping almost as if dancing around the bleeding girl, celebrating the agony they had caused. After a moment, another voice came through, this one low and dangerous. Then another, this time high and menacing, then a voice that could have belonged to a master schemer, followed by a chortle that sounded like the cries of someone writhing in the pits of Tartarus. Again and again, layer by layer, these voices, these screams, these bodiless shrieks attacked Pyrrha’s unprepared ears, but even if she covered them, the voices were still there. They must be the damned! she moaned, Hades’ victims, the Titans, the damned…

But then, through the whirling chaos, something spoke up and Pyrrha lifted her gaze. This presence was different from the rest, softer, even. More gentle. Yes, it was smaller and yes, it appeared to…to flicker almost as if it weren’t all there, but its realness couldn’t be denied. And then that scent, that innocent, memorable scent...Pyrrha’s eyes widened and for a moment she could forget the other spectres dancing around her.

The presence seemed to smile at her. “All is not lost if you have to give in,” it murmured, and in Pyrrha’s mind, it was louder than anything she’d ever heard. “Remember that and go forward.”

And then it was gone, and Pyrrha’s throat was being crushed without mercy. Agony ripped through her and she clawed at where the biting fingernails seemed to be, but there was nothing but air there. For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of an eye in the darkness, but it was gone before she could be sure. The grip was grinding her jaw together so hard that she was seeing red, so certainly she could have imagined that too.

“What’sssssss so interessssssting over there, girl?” a voice keened in her ear. “Daydreaming, perhapssssss?”

The maniacal voice cut in. “Oh, it was her, wasn’t it? We should have ruined her when we had the chance, yes we should have!”

“Silence!” the rumbling voice barked. A tendril of frigid air snuck by and traced down a track of her tears. Pyrrha flinched and tried to jerk away, but the voice just chuckled. “Come now, little one. It is time to make your choice. But first, let me just tell you something that you might want to know before refusing outright.”

The thunderous presence drew pause then and for a moment, relief flooded through her. But then the rumbling growl returned, almost licking at her ear drum, so close she could never have missed a word.

“Let me tell you something about your mother,” it murmured. “You’re here because of her, so are we. You’ve been tricked because of her, so have we. Both of us want our freedom from the cages your mother has trapped us in with her cunning, her wit. Athena gifted her too well for us, so we have remained here without a thing to do for years and years and years. But then you came along, and we had hope. So I wish—we all wish—to repay you, little one, by granting you your dreams.”

Pyrrha’s eyes widened and she was bombarded by visions of dragons and shields and heroes welcoming her into their ranks. She let out a strangled sound of desire, and the voice chuckled. “Yes, you want that, don’t you? Come now, we’ll give it all to you. All you need to do is open the little golden box in the corner.”

It seemed pretty simple. Just a tiny peek for everything she’d ever wanted…

The grip relaxed from around her neck and the whisper shifted to her other side. “Come now, just a little look. It’ll upset your mother and get you your revenge, along with everything you’ve ever wanted as well…”

She could see it now: the enraged face of the woman she despised, the bitter glares in the eyes of her family. But that would only happen for a moment, because right after, she’d be swept up by a crowd of admirers calling her name and showering her in gifts. Her lips parted and a tendril of air caressed its full curve, another lacing itself through her fingers and drawing her closer to the box. Her dark eyes fell across the golden wrapping, a case that seemed to glow even in the pitch dark around it. It shimmered delicately, almost innocently, and as Pyrrha neared she could see herself at her best. Her hair was up and curled in ringlets, laced with golden vines and jewels. Her cheeks were rosy and a radiant sword hung around her shoulders. Her heart lurched and she brushed her fingertips across her reflection, starting in pleasant surprise at the warmth of the box. The room tensed around her, not even a whisper rolling forth, and with a fire in her eyes that no one had ever seen before, she pushed the box off its pedestal and watched it clatter to the floor.

And only then did she know she’d been tricked.

A delighted chorus of maniacal laughter and screaming ripped Pryhha’s fantasy apart and tossed her like a doll to the side. The box lay in shattered pieces in the middle of the hut and around it grew the most terrifying thing Pryhha had ever laid eyes on. A thick black spiral of smoke had leeched forth from its prison and was pulling itself with crafty tendrils higher and higher in the room. It was never consistent, writhing and pulsing, even dripping in some places like blood, but it always grew, always stretched, as if it was feeding off the emotions of Greece. Without a thought, Pryhha let out a bloodcurdling scream and the entire thing swelled to encompass the whole room, then in a flash, it disintegrated, leaving only the imprint of a million grinning figures scurrying out into the world.

Pryhha didn’t know what to think. She couldn’t see anything but the spirits’ smirks, hear nothing but the ringing left after the box’s contents went up in smoke. She felt nothing, thought nothing. She couldn’t move or hardly breathe, and the only thing she felt she had to rely on was the pulsing of the blood through her veins. But even then, that seemed to sputter, for Pryhha had done an awful thing out of anger and greed, something she should have never done in the first place.

She drew her knees to her chest and started to cry, ignorant to the very last presence lingering in the room.

~

Nearly half the evening later, Pandora came looking for the daughter she was incredibly worried about. By that time, the girl had run out of tears, but she had not moved or said a word or even thought to get up and tell her family what she’d done. She didn’t want to exist anymore, didn’t want to face her mother after her crime against the only rule the woman had. Pandora would be blamed for it too, Pyrrha knew, and that thought only made her feel even worse.

The stream of light nearly blinded the girl when Pandora jerked the finicky door to the side and peered in. “Pyrrha?” she called, her eyes fooled by the shadows into missing her daughter’s presence the first glance around. “Darling, are you here?”

Pandora took a step inside and finally her eyes lighted on the huddled ball her daughter had become. “Pyrrha, you had me worried sick. What are you doing in here?”

The girl couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak. So she lifted her head and looked solemnly from her mother to the shattered remains of the box on the ground, tears in her eyes and an apology perched on her lips. Pandora froze, her cerulean eyes growing wider than saucers, and Pyrrha cringed, waiting for the slap that never came. Instead Pandora leaned down by the box, scooped something from the ground, and came to draw her only daughter into her lap, rocking her soothingly back and forth.

No words were passed until Pyrrha felt she was ready. And even in that moment, her voice cracked, her heart throbbed, and she wanted to disappear from the world. “I-I’m sorry, mother,” she began. “I really didn’t mean to.”

Pandora smiled and pressed a finger to her lips. “Hush now, I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t have done something as foolish as this. You are not a fool, after all. You are a beautiful young lady who deserves to be her own woman.”

Pyrrha choked on a sob and buried her face in the folds of her mother’s toga. “But it’s me wanting to be myself that got us into this whole mess.”

“Shh, shh…” The older woman ran a hand through the trembling child’s hair. Her expression, surprisingly, was serene. She felt no anger, no fear. There was no need for any of that here. “It would have happened sooner or later, little one. It is not your fault. The spirits you released are tricky things. If it had not been you, then it would have been your father or your brother. Or even worse, a stranger on the street. It was destined to happen.”

The girl hiccupped. “Those…were spirits?”

Pandora nodded gravely. “The spirits of all things bad in this world, darling. But don’t you worry!” she corrected hastily, eyes going round. “They weren’t all that was in that box, you know.”

Pyrrha pushed herself off her mother and looked curiously at the woman. “Really?”

Her mother nodded and lifted her cupped hands. Pyrrha leaned in slowly and gasped, for within the comfort of Pandora’s fingers lay the most beautiful thing Pyrrha had ever seen. Flickering faintly with a gentle white light, the figure of a woman lay curled against her mother’s palm. Her skin was palest porcelain, the gentle curls darker than the shadows. She bore no toga or clothing of any kind, but she’d cocooned a frail, shivering pair of crystal wings around her tiny body to protect from the bite of the real world. Looking at the spirit, Pyrrha couldn’t help but feel her heart warm and her eyes fill with tears. She looked up with a question in her eyes that her mother immediately acknowledged.

Pandora smiled and rested her forehead on her daughter’s. “This is Elpis, Pyrrha,” she said softly. “As long as she’s here, all is not lost.”

The girl frowned a bit, another question forming in her eyes. Pandora’s smile grew even wider and she leaned in to whisper in her daughter’s ear.

“All is not lost as long as there’s hope.”