Tale: The Origin of Gossip: A divine betrayal

“My lips are sealed - that’s what she had promised before betraying me.” Sara sat huddled under a blanket, seeking solace from her grandmother. “Can you believe they told everyone about my crush on Lola? I will never set foot in that school again. Maddie and Vicky will pay for this!” Anger burned through Sara as she buried her face under the wool.

Sara’s grandmother crossed the room, her steps softened by the crackling of fire casting a soft, golden glow, warming the air. Sara peeked out from under the blanket, unable to contain her frustration.

“Why does gossip travel faster than Apollo on his chariot? I hate Maddie and Vicky for this.”

Her grandmother sat next to her, tucking the blanket snugly around Sara’s cold feet. 

“Now, now, my dear. Don’t be angry with them. It’s not entirely their fault,” she consoled, her voice gentle as a balm. “We are all caught in the web of a curse.”

“A curse?” Curiosity widened Sara’s eyes, whilst the whisper of resin and wood wafted through the air.

“Yes,” her grandmother murmured, drawing Sara closer as secrecy closed in on them. “Have you ever heard of the ancient sin?” Her voice, brittle, carried the weight of wisdom and age.

Sara leaned in, drinking her grandmother’s words. “You mean the one with Prometheus and the start of our civilization?”

“Yes.” The old lady nodded, a hint of guilt etched into the lines of her face. The sun had set, and dusk was settling in comfortably. 

In a long-forgotten time on Mount Olympus, Athena paced restlessly in her father’s chambers. Helios’ chariot had left a golden hue of dawn, but Zeus, her father, was late even by his standards. Doubts filled Athena’s mind. What if he had changed his mind about appointing her as the Goddess of Wisdom? Or worse, what if he thought she should already be content with being the Goddess of War? She squashed her fears, determined to remain calm, and focused on her owl’s soft purr.  

As Athena gazed at the lingering trace of Helios's chariot, raucous laughter echoed through the room, signalling her father’s arrival. He stumbled in, supported by Prometheus, as if the King of Gods had forgotten how to walk. Their discordant steps were like a divine duet out of tune.

Athena gritted her teeth as rage pulsed through her. This was why her father was late? A night out with Prometheus, again? She forced her face to remain neutral, and approached them. 

“Have you had any rest, father?” she asked, masterfully masking the anger from her voice.

“Rest?” Zeus looked at her incredulously. “I am Zeus, Athena, the mighty God of all living beings! Don’t bore me with such nonsense. Do you think me a mere mortal?” 

In a playful jest, Zeus mimicked the cacophonous sounds of mortals asleep, clutching an imaginary blanket. Snoring, the latest tweak Prometheus had made on his creations was indeed the talk of Olympus. The Titan erupted in laughter, boisterously smacking Zeus’ chest. How many cups of ambrosia had they downed? Too many for Zeus to consider officialising Athena as the Goddess of Wisdom.

“Leave my mortals out of this, Zeus,” Prometheus managed to say in between chuckles. “It was your insatiable promiscuity that drove me to invent the sound. Consider it your own personal alarm.”

Zeus gave Prometheus a grateful nod. 

“Thank you, my dear friend. I must admit I’ve grown very fond of this reverse alarm,” Zeus declared with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “when it stops ringing I know it's time for me to flee. Silly thing those mortals, even knowing who I am, they dare challenge me? It spoils the whole affair.”

Immortality and power shielded Zeus’ face from any trace of concern, leaving only an air of innocence and eternal youth. Perhaps that was why mortals adored him, but Athena knew better than to provoke him.

As Zeus flopped onto a divan, Athena gathered a set of plush cushions that she arranged by her father’s back.

“I gave them morals, my friend,” replied Prometheus, never willing to drop the thread of the conversation when it led to his creation - mortals, a meagre image of the Gods. 

“Morals, my dear friend. What for?” Zeus poured himself a goblet of nectar. Athena leaned in to grab one for herself but her father’s thunderous gaze bore into her, forcing her to step back. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, girl. You’re a nuisance to us!” Zeus bellowed, heavy with irritation before pouring himself another goblet of nectar and letting his eyes wander aimlessly. 

A nuisance? She was Athena, Goddess of War, revered for her boundless Wisdom and celebrated for her unyielding Courage. She was not some pesky mosquito buzzing around their diviness. Her determination dug its heels, sooner or later she would restore the respect Zeus owed her. She would be appointed the Goddess of Wisdom. 

Behind her, the golden silk curtains parted, Hera, the Queen of Gods, made her entrance wearing a glorious peacock-feather dress. She took one look at her dishevelled husband and let out an exasperated sigh. However, it was when her gaze fell on Prometheus that her blood began to boil. Clearly, Athena wasn’t the only one bothered by Prometheus’ grasp on Zeus.

“Why do you always leave him in this wretched state?” Hera chastised, her stern glare piercing Prometheus who was now foolishly taunting Athena’s owl, attempting to feed them Bacchus’ wine. The owl with its steadfast, dull gaze looked thoroughly unimpressed. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re continuously seeking to prove yourself mightier than the King of the Gods. Do I need to remind you that the days when Titans ruled are over?”

Hera’s cutting words struck a nerve with Prometheus, chasing the cheerful colour off his face. Sadness shrank him, and Athena sensed the raw loneliness that came from being one of the last Titans standing.  

“With all due respect, my Queen. Do I need to remind you that our reign only came to an end because I fought alongside you Gods? I swore allegiance to Zeus for eternity and let my kind be nothing more than a distant memory.” His words sank, heavy with grief. 

“And that, my dear Prometheus, is why you are irreplaceable,” declared Zeus. “Your titanic strength fortifies me, and your cleverness has led you to invent the most amusing of creations, those little mortals of yours. Some even call you the wisest of the Gods. Yes, Prometheus the wise, it has a ring to it. Let us not dwell on my wife’s remarks. Drink up!”

The wisest of the Gods?

Anger roared in Athena.

She was meant to be the Goddess of Wisdom, not him. 

She squashed the grapes she’d been holding in her fist, and with every drop of juice that moistened her white knuckles, she saw vengeance. She would stop her father from bestowing upon Prometheus the title she deserved, even if it meant going to war.

Before the tension could escalate any further, Hermes appeared with fluttering wings on his feet.

“Not now Hermes. Come back later,” Zeus grabbed a bunch of grapes and sank himself comfortably in the divan, feet up in the air. 

“Heracles needs you, King of the Gods,” Hermes persisted, accustomed to pushing his way through Zeus’ distractions.

“What does that old knob need this time?” Yawned Zeus, showing little interest.  

“He is in danger, locked in combat with a giant.” Hermes announced, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “You won’t want to miss this.”

“A giant, you say? How intriguing! Very well, I’ll go,” exclaimed Zeus, curiosity prickling him.

Prometheus pulled Zeus to his feet and Athena sensed her hopes of being appointed as the Goddess of Wisdom thinning even further. As she watched the two friends embrace under Hera’s watchful gaze she promised herself to break up this duo. Prometheus was nothing more than an obstacle in her path. 

As Zeus, Hera and Hermes vanished between the marble columns, Athena found herself alone with her target. She stood up and circled him, like a bird of prey, feeling for his Achillis heel, a point of division she could exploit to distance him from her father. She needed to discredit him, only in doing so would the rightful title of Goddess of Wisdom be bestowed on her. 

Holding her breath, she felt her cold strategic mind rise to the challenge. Time seemed to slow down as she waited for the perfect opportunity to unfold her plan. Finally, the opportunity presented itself, nearly falling into her lap. 

“I do wish your father wouldn’t be so careless with mortal women,” remarked Prometheus. “After all, I gave them emotions of sadness, pain, even shame. But there’s no reining in that old mug. It’s no fault of his own, though. Your grandmother Rhea failed to teach him limits after Cronus deprived her of her earlier children.”

Athena concealed her mischievous smile with a frown. “You’re right, father will do as he pleases. You can’t stop him, however mortals could make things more challenging for him.”

Surprise straightened Prometheus, intrigued he looked at Athena. 

“Mortals? They can’t even go a day without eating before they break down. I made them fragile creatures. How else would they have venerated us the way they do? They stand no chance against our dear Zeus.”

Leaning closer, Athena whispered, her voice barely audible. “My father’s blood may be golden, but it flows nonetheless if wounded.”

Prometheus stiffened and with his eyes pinned Athena to the ground. “If wounded? What are you saying?”

“Calm yourself, Prometheus,” the Goddess of war advised. My father is invincible, we both know it. But if mortals had weapons to protect themselves, maybe they could make him think twice. I am only taking inspiration from your delightful snoring idea. Weapons may just be another tool to make him avoid unpleasant situations.”

Prometheus pondered her words, rolling them on his lips “Weapons…I had never thought about it. It could keep mortals safe,” he admitted.

Athena smiled, her plan taking shape, all she had to do was let the next few moments unfold.

A shadow of fear obscured the excitement in Prometheus’ eyes. “Zeus must remain unaware of our plans.”

“My lips are sealed,” said Athena, taking his hands in hers. Feeling through the warmth of his hands, his trust in her rise.  

“Why are you helping me, Goddess? I don’t believe you hold mortals so dearly in your heart.”

Athena let out a hearty laugh. “I am the Goddess of War, after all. Why do you think?”

Although Prometheus smiled, Athena thought she spotted a hint of disappointment in the creases of his brow, so she added “The mortals are your creation, yours to cherish but you forget that it was I who breathed life into them, Titan.”

“All this time, I thought you did so only to be in your father’s good graces,” said Prometheus, eyes devouring Athena who smiled at him. 

For a few moments, he remained silent, his mind still going through their plans, tracing back Athena’s words. But time continued to slow down, leaving anxiety to crawl up Athena’s throat. 

Had she played her hand too obviously? Had she underestimated her opponent? One word of this to her father and she would be banished. Then, in a flash, Prometheus released her hands.  

“Fire,” Prometheus declared as the realisation dawned on him.  

Startled, Athena stared at him, but her surprise quickly turned into triumphant assurance. 

She had him. 

She roared secretly with the exhilaration of an assured victory. Zeus had explicitly prohibited Prometheus from giving fire to mortals, and here was the Titan, contemplating defying that very order. Prometheus, unaware of the trap that was folding in on him, misinterpreted Athena’s joy as excitement for the birth of a new civilization, his mood soared to match hers. Unbeknown to him, a web of consequences was being weaved around him, threatening to ensnare him in its intricate threads. 

Athena readied herself to weave the final filament of her deceit. “When you give your first torch of fire to a mortal, be sure to also give them this cocoon.” Nested in the palm of her hand rested a golden silk cocoon, smaller than a bean. Seeing his baffled expression, she explained, “It’s the gossamer-winged butterfly. If they swallow this cocoon, their lips will be sealed, and your secret will remain safe from Zeus.”

“Thank you, Goddess,” said Prometheus, his eyes wet with emotion. 

At last, he had found a counterpart in Olympus who cared for his creation as deeply as he did. Guilt had weighed on his chest since he helped exterminate his own kind. Mortals carried the promise of a new beginning, and perhaps now he would manage to breathe more freely the sweet air of Olympus. 

He gazed at Athena, gratitude emanating from his eyes. “You shall be the greatest deity to the mortals. They will forge cities in your name, erect institutions in your honour, and offer countless sacrifices under your divine name.”

“And under my protection, they shall conquer many battles,” added Athena.

Prometheus pulled her into a warm embrace, so warm that Athena nearly faltered. Was this what closeness felt like? A gentle murmur coursed through her body, which her astute mind swiftly dismissed. Focus, she told herself. Remember you are Athena, Goddess of War.

“To Olympus,” proclaimed Prometheus, raising his goblet. The intensity of his emotions electrified the air.

“To Mortals,” echoed Athena, raising her own goblet, drinking power from her deceit.

At that moment, Sara’s grandmother paused, clearing her throat. The night had swallowed up the two mortals and time pressed on. 

Curled up in the old lady’s embrace, Sara couldn’t let go of the story, “What did those butterflies do?”   

“The gossamer-winged butterflies? The word ‘gossip’ derives from them. They embody something delicate, light and ethereal - much like the nature of gossip itself,” the old lady explained, gently brushing a strand of hair from her grandchild’s forehead. “When Prometheus granted the first torch of fire to a mortal, he instructed them to swallow the cocoon. Little did he know that he was unwittingly cursing humanity and himself in the process.”

The young girl tugged harder on the blanket her grandmother had placed on her legs, staring into the flames licking the fireplace with a whole new appreciation. “What did the cocoon do?” she asked, with a mix of captivation and terror.

“It is said that once inside a mortal’s body, the cocoon would rupture. From it, a butterfly would crawl up the mortal’s throat using its six stinging legs.” As the grandmother continued, an eerie feeling emanated from her words, amplified by the dancing shadows from the fireplace flickering on the wall. “The sting would leave the mortal restless, consumed by the urge to release the secret trapped in the cocoon,” she explained.

“And then, what would happen when the butterflies climbed up their mouths?” Sara asked, her fear evident.

“They would eventually reach the mortals’ tongues and unfurl their wings. At that point, it was impossible for mortals to resist any longer. The poison had taken over their mouths, forcing them to open up and … ” 

A loud crackling from the fire interrupted her grandmother, who got up to rearrange the wood logs, as Sara waited anxiously for her to continue. The room now bathed in semi-darkness.

“And then what happened?” Sara asked, her anticipation growing. 

“They would open their mouths and cough out the butterfly,” her grandmother explained, sitting back next to her. “The butterfly would burst in the air, carrying the gossip it bore, until it made another mortal victim of Prometheus’ secret. This is where the expression ‘getting something of our chest’ comes from, it represents the release of the suppressed secrets that the butterflies carried.” 

Sara absorbed the information, both horror and fascination kept her eyes open well beyond her bedtime. “What happened to Prometheus?” Sadness swaddled her question. 

“You know, the rest of the story,” her grandmother replied gently. “Some say the butterfly on her way back to her master Athena, rested on Zeus’ shoulder, pulled in by the glitz of his crown.” Sara imagined the terrible moment where the blue of the butterfly smudged with Zeus’ glow. “Others speak of a more wicked twist, where the Goddess Athena herself blew the butterfly straight to Zeus’ ear. It is said that when Zeus found out about his friend’s betrayal, a monstrous thunderstorm erupted, shaking the skies so violently that the stars almost fell.” 

Sara gazed through the window, where the stars still shone brightly. 

“Zeus sentenced his friend to be bound to a rock in the Caucasus Mountains, where each day an eagle - that some say looks surprisingly like an owl - comes and eats his liver. His organ grows back overnight, allowing for his torment to be endless.”

Sara felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “How could he do that to him? Weren’t they friends?” Sara’s voice trembled with anger. 

“Gods and mortals alike can act very harshly when the pain of their betrayal guides them.”

After a moment of silence, Sara said, “Fine, I won’t do anything to Maddie and Vicky.” Determination firmed in her voice. “It’s not their fault anyway; it’s the gossamer-winged butterflies, but you won’t see me praising Athena anytime soon.” 

Her grandmother smiled, a mixture of pride and relief. “Good choice, my lovely. The path of kindness and empathy will always keep you safe. Now, off to bed.”

The grandmother placed a kiss on Sara's forehead and let the child fall asleep to the sound of crackling fire. Divine fire. 

And so, in the embrace of her grandmother’s love and the mysterious whispers of the flames, Sara surrendered to her dreams, where gods and demi-gods would continue to enchant her with myths of kindness and courage, and the enduring strength of the human spirit.