Sprawled out below a darkened, stormy sky, a periphery of Greek terrain, littered with collapsed columns, expanded leagues above the earth. Shadowed by ominous clouds, a lone slab of stone rose amidst the ancient, elevated site, supporting the weakened form of a dying, young woman.
Wincing, Meg, with great care, shifted her body along the solitary rock's coarse surface. The tightness in her chest prevented her from composing any further movements. Pursing her lips, she gazed helplessly up at Phil. The satyr squeezed her pale, limp hand.
"Two words, lady: save your breath!" Phil's harsh, commanding voice was low, hoarse. His beady eyes glistened tearfully.
Meg watched the hero trainer dry his scarlet, runny nose with a clenched fist. Feeling her heart clinch painfully at the sight, Meg inhaled a sharp breath. She squeezed Phil's hand and tensed as her compressed ribs gave a protesting twinge.
A hostile breeze blew by. Chilled, Meg shivered. The vindictive weather was playing havoc with her labored inhalations. Her breath rattling in her chest, she wheezed, envisioning the Fates. The shriveled, feminine trio pried cruelly at the thin twine binding her essence. The inescapable Atropos tauntingly snapped her scissors, aiming them at the slim filament. Lachesis, the allotter of the Moirae, proficiently tapped her extended fingernails along the strand's jaunting line. Clotho, having spun her yarn, attentively embraced the spectator role. Fingering a decapitated eyeball, she displayed the bloodshot orb before her bottomless eye sockets.
"How about handing that over, dear?" Atropos requested. "It's kind of difficult to cut something when you've got no eye sight!" She curled her withered lips into a thin smile, honing a sinister intolerance superior to her diminutive height
"Yes, and it's quite bothersome to hold this skinny, string bean while your as blind as a bat!" Lachesis concurred. Disconcerted, she feebly gripped the cord slipping through her fingers. Loftiness quickly beleaguering her limbered figure, she swayed, and her fingers misplaced the string's original measurements.
"No!" Clotho protested. She popped the eye into her left socket. "It's my turn to hold the eye!"
"Oh, now look what you've made me do!" Lachesis cried, distressed. Sightless, she sensed, in dismay, the string's graceful descent to the cavern floor.
"Don't worry, my sweet," Atropos urged. "This was meant to happen." She knowingly interlaced her fingers. "I have seen it happen, as I always have."
"Oh, really?" Clotho sneered. "What is the point in all of this, then?"
Meg's eyelids fluttered. Phil, remaining at her side, sniffed. His crumbled, grief-stricken expression molded messily into an unrecognizable lump. He miserably shook his horn encrusted head. Pitying him, Meg smiled thinly. She whispered, "Herc…tell me…Herc..."
Phil composed his features. He grumbled, "I taught that kid everything he knows." His plump chest swelled. "He even saved me once."
Meg, disbelieving, tilted her head at him. "Once...?"
Disgruntled, Phil snorted. "All right, so he saved me more than once." He shrugged. "Big deal."
Meg flinched. Lachesis, regaining control of the string, was straightening the rope for Atropos, who, with great finality, snipped the strand in two.
Overhead, a strident bray trumpeted amongst the clouds, sounding the arrival of Hercules and Pegasus. The magnificent winged stallion dived low among the clouds, pumping its mighty wings.
Zeus' son, Meg's salvation, had arrived.