Theban hills were silent this night, the celebrations passed and a time of fasting and prayer to come. Wine had flowed in great rivers, sugars and pastries the same, as the populations tried to force their fill of decadence before penitence took over.
Yes. All was silent throughout the great halls of Amphion's palace. The King himself lay curled around his fertile wife, lavender and violets strewn around their sweaty bed, oblivious to the intruders walking through the nursery. Of course some of the twelve should have been parents themselves by now, but no. Fierce protectiveness halted the natural progression of life for these Not-Children. Their parents demanding such beauty stay near. Glorious bodies untouched by mortal hands, no kingdoms of their own, no celebrations to over see.
Artemis smiled gently at the six girls and began to notch her silver bow. Their lithe forms were spread languidly across sheltered beds, canopied tops covered with white linen sheets while softly rounded chests moved up and down. Apollo strode beside the beds of Niobe's sons, their tanned arms stretched over down-filled pillows and unused cocks waiting for the first warm fist to hold them. The God's golden bow reflected his stony glare.
If not for their mother's drunken boasts all twelve would have remained unnoticed by vengeful eyes—Immortal eyes whom loved their mother's honour more than the lives of twelve royal brats.
Tomorrow, the Theban hills would wail.