This is another side story from my concept of the Greek Mythology world, detailed in The Great Awakening. It is my first first-person story within the realm, so hopefully I did it well. :)
I am not a selfless woman. It is often said of me, but it is hardly true. At the heart of anything I've ever done had been a selfish desire to be safe and alone. I promised my virginity to no one, affirmed by my brother and savior, so that I may never suffer the same fate as my mother's. I gave up my seat in the council for peace and tranquility – so that I may never know the burden of voting or making a decision again.
I keep the flames of Olympus alive, no matter what the situation. I keep the idea of home alive when a soldier can't remember what a fresh meal smells like. I keep the fires from over cooking when the old woman has walked away and can't remember she started dinner. I am the warmth a child feels when coming home from playing in the snow. Material is irrelevant; home is home, no matter where it is or what it's made of.
Home does not exist for thanks and praise, so I find it strange that others would feel the need to thank me. I care a great deal about my family, though I barely have words for any of them; this is why many gods find me a selfless goddess. I do not yell at them or chastise and I never ask for anything in return. But this comes from my extreme anxiety amongst others, not from a place of purity. The closest I have come with anyone to explain who I am and why has been my brother, Hades; he understands a good deal why I am this way and I think he prefers the Underworld for the very reasons I prefer isolation. But we understand each other well enough to never speak of it and so we don't.
But Hera worries about me. Demeter worries. Even Zeus has stressed his concern of my hidden nature. Hades suggested I explain myself in a manner most comfortable to me and that is in written form. I am sorry, my brothers and sisters, that I cannot be more informal with even my closest family members. But I hope this will show you that I am happy with who I am and what I do. If I write this correctly, you will worry about me no longer. I will start at the beginning.
The first thing I ever remember was hearing mother's screams and cries. She was in so much pain and I couldn't understand why. There was a terrible pounding on the walls around me as she fought him, crying miserably. When he roared in rage, I had to put my hands over my ears to soften the sound that reverberated in my very being. I couldn't quite figure out what exactly was going on, but father screamed mother into silence and then the silence took over my life.
To be fair, I had no idea the voices were my parents. I had no concept of who put me there or who fought for my freedom. I had no name, no idea of a name and no sight to guide me. I had no idea of the world around me or what to do to fix it. When I spoke, no one heard me, so I stopped talking. I would move around, scavenging a meal or a bed and no one seemed near enough to tell me what I was doing wrong or right. I have no idea how long I was alone in the warm, sticky belly of my father before one night, mother tapped on his stomach. It was soft sound at first and a muffled voice followed quickly. I recognized her voice as someone who spoke often, but she had never addressed me or where I was before. She called out to me, softly, trying very hard not to wake my father and, finally, I had a name.
"Hestia, my baby girl," she called to me in such a calming tone. I remember reaching out for her, putting my hands on the edge of his innards and I could feel her tapping at his skin. I curled my hand into a fist and pounded back, shouting words I don't recall. She did not hear me but she felt my small hands; I remember hearing her gasp and she said my name again. I pounded my fist against the wall and she rubbed his stomach, shushing me softly. She was a strong woman in her words, but I could hear the soft crying behind my prison walls. I slid down into a seated position, feeling the tears again and knowing this was sadness.
"You are safer in there, sweetheart. This world is no place for you. Not yet," she said to me and her voice grew louder as she set her head against his stomach. That night, she explained to me the world around her; she explained she was my mother but avoided telling me where I was or how I came to be there. She had told me how beautiful I was in her arms and that I would be with her again someday soon. I have never told her this, but I cried the whole night with her. She cried herself to sleep and I did too, curled up against my father's stomach, trying to keep as close to her as I could. I had been happier before she spoke to me that night. Happier in the blackness and the ignorance, but I would never exchange it for that night. She gave me hope and love when I had none. She gave me a name.
These nights quickly became tradition. I could hear her kind words to my father, trying to keep him happy and content. When he became angry, she calmed him. When he was hungry, she fed him. And most importantly, she made sure he fell asleep quickly so she and I could be together again. I lived for these nights; I silently lived through father's eating and drinking habits, gladly succumbing to his choices just to survive to the night. She painted the world around her, telling me about waterfalls and rain, snow and the stars. Sometimes she talked about private things, like her worry for her siblings and the curse Ouranus placed on father. She confided in me things she never told father, like her relationship with Gaia and Moros' prophecy that led Cronus to paranoia.
She worried that the prophecy was coming true, that she would betray the husband she loved to save me; but then nights later, she would tell me he was no longer the man she loved. She was pulled in many directions, challenged as a mother and wife and she struggled with the concept of those two roles being enemies. She could not choose to love her husband and me simultaneously without sacrificing something. One night, she confided in me that she was pregnant again. She would bear another child and she had no doubt father would consume that one as well; she made a promise to me that night. She promised me she would never betray me. She swore on the river Styx that I would come before my father and that no matter the cost, she would find a way to save me from his prison. She only asked one thing of me: that I take care of any siblings that may join me.
She had no way to hear me or know that I had promised to do just that. She and I, without saying a word, had made a pact to be strong together. We never cried after that. She started slipping timber into father's food to supply for light. I created small fires, which finally showed me the deep red color in the walls around me. To a small extent, I had wished I hadn't. The world around me was foul and gross; the food was chewed and floating mixtures of wine and water. I made meals off of what father ate and cooked it again over the fires to rid it of its soggy state. By the time Hades came tumbling down, I had learned to create fires well and control them so they didn't burn father and alert him of my presence. Hades was a quiet new born; he only cried a few minutes from the shock of his fall and that had been it. He never cried again. I held him in my arms next to the fire as I told him everything our mother had told me those first few nights. I told him about how strong and wonderful she was and about her promise to me – now us – that she would save us from here. He listened in silence for hours, hugging me closely and staring into the darkness around us.
Time went by faster with him around. Before I knew the day was out, mother was talking to us deep into the night. Hades would sit in my lap and we would sit by the warm fire, listening to her stories and her soft voice. I started staying awake past her tales, making sure Hades was asleep and extinguishing the fire before lying down. Mother warned us again about her third pregnancy and Demeter was with us quickly. I'm sorry, sister, but you were quite the crier; it took days to settle her down, between being too cold at night without the fire and too hot near it, we didn't get a lot of sleep. Poseidon was grumpy, constantly punching me when I tried to feed him and Hera, the youngest, was the most miserable. She was confused by the setting, unhappy with the lacking space and bored of the stories of the world she could not see. We were a small family, with Hades and myself as pseudo-parents, quietly taking care of our siblings while mother could not. When questions came to us about why we could not leave, we had no answers; Hera would cry up to mother at night when she told us stories, asking to let us out and crying when she did not hear. The more of us that came, the more frustrating the world around us was and the more difficult it became to keep happy. I'm not sure if mother knew this or grew tired of telling her children stories instead of kissing them goodnight, but I knew something had changed.
She stopped coming at night. There was no warning, no news of her sixth pregnancy. She simply disappeared from the night and while the rest kept each other company, I grew scared and lonely. I was not strong enough to do this without her, or at least I didn't think so. Father was angrier than usual, something Hades guessed was due to mother's disappearance. Before we could theorize anymore, my world had completely changed... and I wasn't sure it was for the better.
We exchanged a world of darkness and security for beauty and pain. We launched into a war immediately, tearing mother's family apart further and pitting gods against each other. I wanted no part of it. I wanted my family in one spot, safe and secure, like we always had been. The world was too large, too open and everyone could go where they pleased. I missed the simplicity of my prison; it was all I had come to know and it was where I had learned all of the important things. It was not home and never will be, but I had no viable replacement. Everyone was spread out and even with sticking close to mother, I felt so lost and scared without my family near me.
Life is simply different on the outside – though the food is certainly better. I have been very happy with Mount Olympus. It took years to cultivate the familial and safe feeling in the same place we once had war and destruction, but with my fires always blazing, it is home. I have no need or want to talk about the same things that interest my family because they interest me, nothing else. If they are home and safe, I am content. I will never give advice, I resist speaking with anyone and I aim to simply make sure beds are made and the food is cooked. I am content and okay with who I am, and I wish you to simply stop asking. Don't look for me, don't thank me, don't help me. I want this. I am a selfish woman and this is what I want.
Hestia