It is a lie of course. Agapios breaks his promise two years later. It is not his fault, he is only mortal after all. The blade is sharp and stained with his blood. Agapios staggers backward and slides down the stone wall of the dark alley. The fat merchant sneers at him between his wiry mustache and extra chin. Hera will be his by the morning.
She's inconsolable, a tempest in her grief and rage. The merchant tells her that it was a group of bandits, that Agapios sacrificed himself in the skirmish. Hera doesn't believe him. She casts him out of the house and covers Agapios' body with her own, sobbing her lament.
Thanatos knocks on the door twice before he enters. Hera is ready for him.
"Who?" she asks, the question is dripping with venom.
"The merchant."
Thanatos lets her hold Agapios' hand while he performs the ritual, "I'm sorry." He says.
Hera walks Thanatos out the door, and then morphs into a vicious beast, seeking retribution. She doesn't have time to wait for Nemesis. No, she must do this with her own hands.
The merchant is reclining luxuriously on his bed, eyes closed and running his thick fingers along his thighs. "Hera," he moans.
She wills herself not to kill him on the spot and then clears her throat, stepping into the room with a coy smile. "I need someone." She says, the epitome of a promiscuous widow. He scrambles to his feet and lumbers toward her, fingers twitching in anticipation.
He's barely grazed her skin before he crashes to the floor howling in pain, blood gushing between his legs.
Hera sets the house on fire and leaves before Thanatos comes calling again.
