"How? With my knife." The horror of that slowly twisted to poetry; her creation, grasped in the hand of Ares' creation, used to kill a god.
No, it was still horror. Marcie had killed Apollo. It was too personal and too raw to make anything else out of it but pain, right now.
Melpomene paced another turn of the floor, pausing at the bookshelf Apollo had pinned Tragos up against. "The knife I gave to Tragos, and he gave to her. That's how," she breathed out, braced against the shelf though there was nothing, truly, that could brace her for the death of an Olympian at the hands of a mortal, especially Apollo. "And why?" She didn't know. Apollo had left too fast, and the story was locked too deep inside Tragos, she would have needed more time to pry it free.
She shook her head sharply, "Why doesn't matter, in the end. She's the deed's creature, now. He cursed her, there's no coming back from that."