Through thick and thin

A smile graced Thea’s lips as she admired herself in the mirror. She looked marvelous. Her soft, ebony black hair had been swept back into an elegant knot, accentuating the sharp contours on her face. She wore a robe of brilliant purple, just long enough to caress her feet, embroidered with a twisting, elaborate design. Matching it was a long, thin strip of purple fabric that encircled Thea’s head, worn with the same imperial dignity as would a crown.

Art tapped her feet impatiently. She was going to pick flowers with her sister, Thea, and Phen. Phen was already next to Art, a smile lingering on her lips as she watched Thea twirl, admiring herself. Art couldn’t help the scoff that escaped her, biting back an insult. Her sister’s peculiar brand of airy imperialism frustrated her. Art and Thea were among the most beautiful women in the land, and there wasn’t a man alive who didn’t know that. They didn’t need elegant dresses or elaborate make-up to catch eyes.

Thea whirled around, her stormy gray eyes fixed on Art in a mild glare. Her lip curled ever so slightly when she caught sight of Art’s attire. Art had slipped into the simplest dress she could find, eager to go out with Phen- a green kirtle over a white chemise. The dress hugged her slim frame, accentuating her curves. She had let her hair be, and it tumbled down to her waist in a waterfall of black. Phen was gently combing her hands through the mess, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Ready?”, Art asked, choosing to ignore the waves of contempt radiating off her sister.

“Absolutely.”, Phen replied, glancing at Thea for confirmation. To Art’s immense relief, her sister nodded and picked up her basket before sweeping out the door. Art followed her, pulling Phen behind.

The flower patch was a riot of colors, like a playground for butterflies. Flowers of every conceivable variety bloomed here, bright and fresh, their open faces turned toward the sun. Art knew, though, that these would fade away soon enough, bending to the will of the burning sun and folding into themselves until they dropped to the floor, life long gone. But she could save them from that. She could give them a few more hours to live, in the soothing shade of her home, and that meant more to her than either Thea or Phen could possibly imagine.

The three girls weaved between the flowers, caught in a dream. There was only the thrill of movement and the music of their laughter and the warm thrum of friendship. A magical moment, forever captured in reality. Every breath was perfumed with the heady scent of a thousand different flowers. The hours danced by and Art floated above it all, drunk on sheer joy.

That was when he came.

She didn’t remember much about him. He had come from seemingly nowhere, as if he sprung from the mud beneath. He had dark hair, she remembered, in sharp contrast to his pale face. His eyes were even darker- a sharp, cutting black. They spoke of death, just as a flower would speak of life. And they were locked on Phen.

Art hadn’t been quick enough. By the time she had looked up, it had been too late.  The man’s arm was locked around her friend, securing her to his side. She got but a glimpse of him, clutching a struggling Phen, before they both disappeared. All that was left behind was a trail of limp, dead flowers where he had walked.

 “Persephone!”

Art’s eyes shot open as wakefulness hit her like a slap in the face. Phen’s porcelain face swam in front of her mind- innocent, smiling, youthful. Cruelly distorted with fear that should never have been forced upon her as she was pulled away too early by a man she had not known.

Art squeezed her eyes shut. The memory was a bitter one, one she wished would disappear. She had lost not only Phen, but Thea too that day. The sisters’ relation, rocky at best, had not withstood Phen’s disappearance. Caught in a web of blame and guilt, Art and Thea had broken apart. There wasn’t a day Art didn’t miss her, feel her absence like a painful hole in her heart.

She sighed loudly. The nightmares had been becoming more and more frequent nowadays, probably due to her troubled mind. The Trojan war had been going on for ever, the years flying by like seconds. Art loved fighting, reveled in the sights and sounds and smells of banners and horses and blood. Her bow had been the Trojan’s from the start. She had basked in the breathtaking, addictive thrill of shooting, arrows after arrow flying from her bow like young birds from their nests. Years of battle, though, had taken their toll, leaving her to stumble into bed every night to revisit Phen in her dreams.

She should go, she realized. The sun had long come up and the battle must have begun. Outside, she could hear the merry sounds of spring, the world easing into life after months of sleep. The tinkling sounds of birds soothed her ears as she splashed cold, clear water over her face. The wilderness had always drawn her to it like a magnet, and moments like these, when she could delight in the chaste purity of the forest, told her why.

 Slinging on her quiver, she picked up her bow. It caught the light as she lifted it, sparkling slightly, luminous as the waxing moon. It made her heart jump, reminding her of Thea, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched Art gasp in pure ecstasy when she spotted her gift from the Kyklopes. A lot of things seemed to remind her of Thea now, from the slices of orange her sister so loved to the exquisite dress she had gifted Art centuries ago. Maybe that was because this whole war screamed Thea. It was her sister who had started it, after all.  Art bit her lip, pushing Thea out of her mind. The time for nostalgia had long gone; now, the hour called for bloodlust.

She stepped out, drinking in the sight of the chariot that awaited her. It was long and sleek, made for both efficiency and comfort. The gold glittered madly, unsuccessfully attempting to distract attention from the brilliant silver stags hitched to it. The deer’s horns matched the chariot, a lustrous golden. Art skipped onto it, smiling. She could already feel the adrenaline pumping in her veins, ready to be unleashed as a thousand arrows.

Ten minutes later, she arrived on the battlefield. A smile lit up her face as the first soldier fell to one of her arrows. After that, there was only the thrill of battle and the music of a thousand screams. Every breath was perfumed with the heady scent of fresh blood. Art laughed as she fought, intoxicated by success, drunk on victory. She caught a glimpse of Thea, resplendent in magnificent robes and her signature helmet. Her face was caught in feverish ecstasy, but her stormy gray eyes were flashing dangerously. Art sucked in a breath and turned away.

Only to come face to face with Hera.

Hera looked almost intimidating, now that Art was facing her. She was beautiful as a snake is beautiful, magnificent as a tigress is magnificent. Her black robes swirled around her, catching the wind and dancing in time with its puffs. Her large, ebony black eyes were trained on Art.

She should have seen this coming- after all, she had learnt long ago never to let her guard down in a battle. Thea had been only a momentary distraction, but it was enough for Hera to catch her unawares. She backed away, moving to the edge of her chariot to give herself some maneuvering space. Her arrows would do her no good- Hera was too close. She bent to pick up the hunting spear that lay in the corner of her chariot, her eyes on the older woman.

Hera laughed, a diamond-sharp laugh that sent shivers down Art’s bones. “I came to tell you something.”, she said, the words landing on Art like blocks of ice. Art suppressed a shiver, instead pulling her lips into a cocky smile, oozing confidence. Hera’s smile didn’t fade, rather it grew wider.

“I met your little friend, Persephone.”

Art froze. Phen. She hadn’t heard about Phen in centuries. The fierce ache of the hole where Phen used to be returned, hitting Art like a slap in the face. Her lips seemed to move of their own accord. “H-how is she?”

Hera’s cruel smile returned, a laugh that was not a laugh. “She’s dead.”

No.

No.

Impossible. Phen couldn’t be dead. Phen was P hen, pretty and cheerful and so, so alive. It was all Art had gone on, belief that Phen was fine, faith that a man who would go to such great lengths to abduct her would keep her safe. But she had been wrong, had failed more spectacularly than she had ever imagined possible. Phen was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. Art stumbled backward, tears bubbling up in her eyes and trailing coyly down to caress her cheeks. Her awareness disappeared- she kept stepping backward, as though she could escape from the truth, until her feet touched empty air and she fell out of her chariot, crashing into the ground.

It felt like crashing back into reality. Hera’s mocking laughter hit her, combined with a thousand other sights and sounds and smells that suddenly made her want to throw up.

A scream. Had Phen screamed before she died?

The smell of blood. God, had Phen bled to death?

“Artemis!”

The scream jerked Art from her thoughts and she turned, black eyes falling on Thea. Her sister was running toward her, fear written in every line of her face. Art’s brows furrowed as she turned, wondering what could scare her sister so. Her eyes widened as she saw Hera, a knife raised above her head, murder in her eyes.

Then Hera was being thrown away and she was in Thea’s arms. She was safe again, but Phen wasn’t. Phen was gone. Dead. The sobs wracked her frame and she could feel Thea’s chin above her, strong arms around her. She looked up at her older sister, eyes wet with tears.

“Athena.”, she murmured.

Thea shook her head, pulling Art closer. “Thea to you, Art.”

A laugh bubbled out of her throat before she could comprehend it, pushing past the fear and sorrow and grief. Thea felt safe, so safe, and they were together for the first time in centuries. There was no hostility in her sister’s gaze, just love. The sort of love Art had been starved of, ached for, since Phen had gone.

“Thea, Phen.”, Art whispered.

“I know, Art.”, Thea murmured. Art felt slender fingers in her hair, pushing through the curls. “Hera told me. It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.”

Art buried her head in Thea’s dress and wept, wept as she hadn’t in millennia. Thea’s arms were securely wrapped around her, and she could feel her sister murmuring words of reassurance.

Years later, Art would come to know that Hera had lied. She would meet Phen again, and learn that she had come to love Hades, the man who had taken her. But for now, she simply soaked up the comfort Thea gave, secure in the knowledge that they would stand together forever and ever. As girls, as sisters, as friends.