Grecian Urn...

mood: mischievous

                A swirl of smoke rose lazily, drifting up towards the ceiling.  Cronus, laying down flat on the bed, watched the wisp deteriorate, his thoughts wandering.  “I’d forgotten so much, but I never thought I’d forgotten this…”  He smiled wanly.  His wife, Rhea, made a small sound, almost mouse-like, in agreement.  She was next to him, lying on her stomach, her right arm cast limply across his bare chest.  He could feel she was cold.

“There is great unrest on Zeus’ mountain, darling.  Our children, it seems, have been at war.  Aphrodite herself told me so.”  Cronus took another drag on his cigarette; a newly acquired habit picked up on a recent trip to the land of the mortals.  He tapped the white stick gently, causing the growing ash to tumble to the floor.  “Evidently Apollo’s been a naughty boy, casting spells.  Mother always told me of the danger of casting spells.  Gaia was the only one who ever seemed to get them right, as you well know…”  Not turning to look at her, his right hand came to rest on her forearm, stroking it idly.  His fingers were still slick and wet.

“I have the spell, read it carefully.  It is a powerful thing, obviously not one Apollo wrote himself.  Our children are at a loss to repair the damage.  Even Aphrodite is flummoxed, but I know how to fix it.  I couldn’t have hoped for a better way back into their good graces.”

Rhea murmured something barely intelligible.  “No dear, I’ve no designs on their little mountain.  Othrys is my home – it always has been.  No, I’ve something else entirely in mind.”  He licked his lips, a slight tingling hint of sweet copper his reward.  “They need my guidance now, more than ever.  I will give it to them.”

The wet, warm sheets had begun to get stiff and cold.  Cronus gently slid Rhea’s arm off his chest and got up, sticking the cigarette into the corner of his mouth.  Rivulets of crimson ran languidly down the edge of the bed, collecting in tiny pools.  He was careful to avoid stepping in the congealing fluid as he reached for his robe.  “Much time has passed, too much.  I wish I could have been here for you, all those years alone on this mountain. “  He turned to look at Rhea, her back rising in a shallow, rhythmic fashion, tracts of her skin purple and masticated.  He smiled, menacing glint lighting up his eyes.  “But don’t worry.  I’ll not be leaving you again.”

Cronus tied his robe and left the room.  He would give her a few days to recuperate.