A/N So I wrote a fic about Cassandra earlier, and apparently describing burning cities and fatalism is my new favorite thing because instead of sleeping I wrote this. As you may or may not know, I hate Homer. His writing is mediocre, and he's allergic to writing strong female characters. Like, if I have to hear about dawn and her rosy fucking fingers one more time I'm burning this fucking book! Even if I liked him, however, I would still think that what happened to Cassandra was stupid. SHE COULD SEE THE FUCKING FUTURE, and given Apollo's decision to make her not believed, I think we can presume that if the people had listened to her, they could've changed it. So, since she believes herself, she would've changed it b/c she's not stupid.
Cassandra sees it all.
She sees Achilles' anguished face as he clutches the body of his friend, his companion, his lover in his arms. She watches as Hector's broken body is slowly torn apart by Achilles' grief-stricken vengeance.
The deaths of her friends, her family, and her enemies dance before her eyes to the bloody song of vengeance.
She wonders what would've happened if people had realised that they were just puppets, dancing to the whims of the gods. If they knew that this war was just an irritable quarrel between siblings, and they cared naught for the lives gone to waste for their petty squabble.
From her place inside the walls, she hears news of Hector's death, as she had foreseen. She knows that the days of Troy are numbered.
She doesn't have to wonder what will happen after the battle. She knows. But she won't let what happens to her be dictated by prophecy. If Troy is going to burn, so will she.
The battle draws to a close, and Troy thinks they have won. She lets them. They mock her for her false prophecies. She says nothing. She waits.
It is nightfall. For a moment, quiet settles over the city like a blanket. Then it is broken. There will never be quiet again until Troy is reduced to ash and memories.
The fires raze the city. She takes to the streets.
She sees the world in red and gold.
She sees the broken bodies littering the streets.
This time, it isn't a prophecy.
As she walks, ashes are crushed under her feet. Ashes of wood and bone. Ashes of the hope that her people held onto for so long, finally burned away.
Fire is cleansing, she thinks. It will wash away the memory of Troy.
She steps forward into the blaze as her city falls, and she dies with a smile on her lips.
Because this was never really about Helen.