A/N: Reposted. Based on The Peneloplaid, which I'm sure I don't need to tell I don't own.
We were the twelve, the twelve you hanged, the twelve you wronged.
We were the twelve who loved your son and wife, the twelve who served them till our last breath.
We are the twelve dead.
Did you know our names, Odysseus, cunning favourite of Athena? Who we were? Where we came from? Did you take a moment to wonder at our actions? Give us a moment to prove our innocence?
We only did what our Queen told us. We were the twelve maidens, and she, our Head Priestess. We did everything we did, so that she would remain safe.
The men who came, the lecherous Suitors who came to rob you of everything, they would have been her ruin if not for us. We filled their beds, so she would not. We were raped, beaten and bruised so she would not be. We heard their lies, their rumors, and spread our own, all under her command. So Ithaca would still remain yours when you returned home to us.
And what was our reward for our patience and loyalty? Death. You hung us from the bow of your ship, ignoring and begs and pleas for mercy. You didn't even flinch as we swung before you, one by one.
Penelope, were was she? Would she suffer from you anger and ignorance too? We pray not. Our Queen, our beloved sister, we would have suffered what we had tenfold for her.
We do not forget, Odysseus. The wronged dead never do. We roam here, spirits of the Underworld, and we will have vengeance. Run to Athena if you must, but you cannot run from death. We will find you, at every corner of the world. And when you die, brave, shrewd hero, we will be here. We will be waiting. And justice shall be ours.