The Legend of Pandora's Box
According to Edith Hamilton in Mythology the source of all misfortune was Pandora's curiosity. "The gods presented her with a box into which each had put something harmful, and forbade her ever to open it. Then they sent her to Epimetheus, who took her gladly although Prometheus had warned him never to accept anything from Zeus. He took her, and afterward when that dangerous thing, a woman, was his, he understood how good his brother's advice had been. For Pandora, like all women, was possessed of a lively curiosity. She had to know what was in the box. One day she lifted the lid and out flew plagues innumerable, sorrow and mischief for mankind. In terror Pandora clapped the lid down, but too late. One good thing, however, there was Hope. It was the only good the casket had held among the many evils, and it remains to this day mankind's sole comfort in misfortune."
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Prologue
A glowing face broke through the shadows; a mother's face. She stood over her baby's crib, watching the infant sleep, her peculiar green eyes steadily filling with water from the beauty of her baby daughter. A square of moonlight fell through the paned widow, pooling in the crib and illuminating the child's face, peaceful in sleep. The baby girl's breath was shallow and silent; her small chest rose and fell gently. A single, perfect tear streaked down the mother's radiant cheek and fell into the crib, landing without a splash on her baby's plump cheek. Slowly, she reached down to wipe away the salty water, but a muted luminosity started at the tiny face through the tear. Like water to the crusted ground of the desert, the tear sank into the child's skin; then was gone. A sign; the mother smiled into the rapidly fading light and the room darkened once again.
A child with the same peculiar green eyes as her mother wandered about the dusty attic of her family's summer home, her fingers trailing over faded cardboard boxes and leaving darkened paths in the layered dust. Her dark mass of curls bounced around her slim shoulders softly as she walked, skipping really, around the grimy room above the main House. Shelves of plain wood, also covered in dust, lined the walls stacked with boxes, both open at the top and with lids: all different sizes, a few odd colors but mostly the same dulled brown. The lame appearance made the room seem gray and she was the only thing alive, the only color. The room wasn't dark, but all the boxes created long shadows that tilted to the floor, hiding forgotten spider webs. But something caught the girl's eye. Something almost hidden in shadow, twinkling enticingly from its spot on the shelf. Already fixed in its draw, the girl set to work dragging a dirty chair from a grubby corner. Positioning it directly below the shelf, the girl climbed onto it and stood gingerly so she wouldn't crack her head, hoping she would be tall enough. When she straightened, the girl was surprised. The chair had given her enough height so her chin was level with the shelf. Only inches from the box, the girl could see that it was not, as it appeared to be from the floor, made of wood. It was metal. And carved with intricate designs and marks engraved to be some sort of language she couldn't read. It was beautiful. She had to know what was inside. A tense hush had fallen over the already silent room, its electricity threatening to spark at any moment. The girl's stomach knotted; her mother would not like her in the attic, much less touching things. But the lure of the pretty box was too great. As if in slow motion, she reached out with both hands, releasing the wall from the grip of her fingers. Forward, forward…to the box. Before her fingers could wrap around its sides, the chair collapsed from under her. Colliding with the floor, the box sliding slowly out of reach was the last thing the little girl saw before sliding into darkness. Unconscious, the girl lay on the floor, a trickle of syrupy blood pooled on the wooden floor, swirling with the dirt. And along with her memory of it, the box faded back into the shadows, back into hiding.
Time passed and nothing moved from the places the mother left them. A decade to be exact. She had escaped from the nightmare--nothing could change that. But her daughter lived, unaware of the myth that lie hidden in shadow. Nothing stirred in the Temple. Even the wind was silent through its open walls. The tall beams suspending a ceiling blackened by fires long burnt out stood like looming giants, waiting. A black cat sat motionless like a sphinx in a tomb. The cat was the only living thing in the Temple. The only light was from the moon that filtered through the open walls and unfolded like silk over the floor of ancient brown tiles. Through the garden that surrounded the Temple, a breathless whisper moved through the overgrown grass and trees. She's coming…she's coming…
