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She hadn't asked to be created - it shouldn't be her fault that she hadn't been created right. She had never been born. Instead, the twelve Olympians had, for the first time in her memory, worked together, creating the most beautiful, corruptly curious woman they could. She had been created for a purpose; it was inevitable that as long as she existed, she would eventually fulfil her purpose. It wasn't her fault. It couldn't be her fault. There were a million thoughts that flew through her head when the porcelain jar cracked, as elegant in pieces as it had been whole, but at the forefront of Pandora's mind was that she regretted ever having existed.
Prometheus had made a mistake in giving fire to humans, and his punishment had been an example of the cruelty of the gods. Every evening, as the eagle came again and again to eat his liver, the Titan's screams reverberated throughout Olympus. His brother, Epimetheus, had been made to feel like an outsider amongst his brethren, fleeing to live in a self-wrought exile at the very edges of civilisation, his parents cast into Tartarus, the very bowels of hell. Zeus said it was to set a precedent so that Olympus would know to listen to its king. They all knew it was because he liked to hear the screams, that he liked the reminder that he had caused pain, that he revelled in his power, drunk on his victories against the defenceless.
They all saw it coming, the next time he got bored, rethinking his choices and finding them to be too merciful, too bland, for the king of Olympus. They just hadn't expected it to come in the form of punishing him. He had never done a thing to hurt a fly - it wasn't his fault he was the brother of a traitor, and Zeus should have known all about being born related to evil. But nevertheless. As the king of the Gods paced the marble floors of his palace, as the air crackled with power and electricity, as the plan was created to punish Epimetheus, an innocent, with the creation of another innocent soul, the gods knew it was not going to be a good day in history. .
'...and we'll tempt him with the love he has not received for centuries, the love of a woman so irresistible she must have been created from the stuff of divinity, the stuff born from nothing but evil. We'll tempt him with love, the love that will leave him choking on his own blood, the love that will leave humanity itself reeling, wishing they had never been given the gift of self awareness.' These were the days when, as the gods were assembled to hear their king speak, that they realised again for the first time why he had risen to rule over them, that they realised again for the first time how the first war against the ruthless titans had been won - with ruthlessness more brutal than the Earth had ever seen before. They also realised that he had a tendency for the dramatics.
'Father, I beg you to rethink,' Athena, the goddess of wisdom began to speak, 'Epimetheus is guilty of no crime. He is the wrong target for your wrath.'
'Do you dare call me wrong?' Zeus roared, the air heating up enough to blur, 'do you dare oppose your king?' the goddess shrank back in her seat, her face a mask of stone and regret. The goddess of love, seated on her chaise of roses and pearls, was chuckling quietly to herself. 'I, for one,' she said in a voice that was velvet and sickly sweet poison, 'think that your ideas are the stuff of legends. I will have fun creating a woman in my shape for our dear Titan brother.' in the pale golden light of Olympus, Aphrodite looked ethereal, her teeth just a little too sharp, her skin a shade too pale, her smile just slightly too contemptuous; and yet, no living being could have denied that she was the goddess of all things beautiful.
'She will have the face of Aphrodite,' Zeus said, 'the intellect of Athena, the agility of Hermes, a gift from every god assembled here,' then he smiled, and the gods began to pity the titan, 'and an insatiable want to discover. She will be, in all aspects, perfect, and she will love Epimetheus unconditionally.'
Pandora could remember every second of her creation, every excruciating moment where her existence was crafted from nothing but the white caps of the waves, the glinting light in a doe's eyes, the ethereal shine of a single, perfect pearl. It had been a gift one of the gods had given her, to witness and remember every moment of her existence vividly. Most deities will rust as time goes by, he had said, you will not. If only it hadn't been so painful.
At least they had created her with one thing she could truly call her own, that she could say she was happy to have. Her mind was alive with want. She wanted to know how the world worked, she wanted to find every kind of flower in existence, she wanted to feel all of those emotions that governed the existence of everything alive.
Pandora took to life on Earth a very literal heartbeat after she was created. She was revered throughout Greece as a bringer of knowledge and light to wherever she visited. Pandora did not take vengeance for petty slights to her being, and she didn't demand the horrifically sacrificial devotion that all the other deities who roamed the world. Humanity took an immediate liking towards the good-natured and wise Pandora, and although she loved them with her entire heart, it was tiring to always be seen as the saviour. Their pleading cries rang constantly at the edge of her hearing wherever she went, however far from civilisation she travelled.
It wasn't like her to be ungrateful, or even to limit her giving, but at one point, she snapped. Pandora supposed it was her own fault for establishing herself as a figure of helpfulness and endless patience. Maybe those long-lived deities, who lived at the edge of collective memory and were now only known through whispers of unspeakable terror, hidden in the deepest pits of the earth and sea, had been right all along. At least they weren't constantly bothered by the petty prayers of Greece.
The day was hot, the air soaked in sunlight and humidity, and Pandora had finally snapped. She didn't know who had been the straw that had broken her back. All she could be sure of was that she was done being humanity's nurse. And so she walked. And walked. And walked. Maybe it took her days, or weeks or months. She was finally learning how the gods dealt with their neverending existence - sometimes, you could spend a century just staring out at the horizon, blankly enjoying the impassive beauty of something you had not created.
Eventually, she came across a mountain. Although, the word 'mountain' didn't really do what was before her justice. It was a wall rising over a hundred feet of sheer white sandstone, there were no cracks or blemishes or imperfections on its face. It was as though some massive being had started building their house, but stopped halfway up their first wall. There seemed to be no end to the mountain, neither on the left nor on the right. She stopped just before it, her nose almost touching the rock. It was as though she had walked to the edge of the world. Looking upwards where the rock met the cornflower-blue sky, her hair whipping around her face as a wind started to pick up, Pandora laughed. Yes, it had taken the feats of beings too powerful for her to comprehend, for her to even want to comprehend, but it had happened. Pandora realised why she had fallen in love with life, with nature and with humanity all over again.
'Um...hello?' a heavy, deep voice shook Pandora from her reverie. Her heart was light, and she was happy, and although she had no idea how humanity had managed to populate even this land, that seemed so sparse and bare and holy, Pandora was willing to give the human whatever he wanted. It was a good day.
She turned around, and who she saw standing before her was most definitely not human.
She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. Hair as dark as the deepest parts of the ocean framed a heart-shaped face that looked as though it saw the good in everyone and everything it came across. Her eyes were the most startling shade of blue, bordering on almost violet, that he had ever seen, even in his millennia of existence. Her column dress was flowing and fluttering around her sandalled feet in the wind...and he had been staring for much too long to call proper.
'What do you want?' her voice was cold, but her curiosity shone through nonetheless in the tilt of her head, the furrow in her forehead.
'Oh! No, I don't want anything, I was just surprised,' he should have been born unable to speak - it wasn't like his words meant anything anyway. Why did he always do this? 'I do not normally see anyone here.' He said.
Pandora relaxed visibly, and went back to staring at the mountain. The awe in her gaze was clear; she must have been new around here.
'I have never been this far before. It is breathtaking.' His guess had been right.
Epimetheus, in so many words, was normal. He did not have the wits and intelligence of Athena, he did not have the sheer bloodlust of Ares, he did not have the power of Zeus - he just was. And he could accept that. But what Epimetheus did have, was secrets. He had secrets, and he hoarded others' secrets, like a crow inexplicably drawn to anything that glittered. Maybe it was time to share one of his secrets. '...I could take you someplace even more beautiful.' He said.
She raised an eyebrow, 'my name is Pandora,' she said, holding out her hand. He smiled, took her hand, and took her to his palace under the mountain.
Well, 'palace' wasn't the right word for it. The hollow under mount Olympus was more of a cave, but to have called it that would have been an injustice to its beauty. The gently sloped crystalline walls were studded with gems and precious stones that gave off a cold, white light. A massive, still lake in its centre, that was more akin to a mirror that water, reflected the light a million times, filling the cave with an ethereal light.
'How did you find this?' Pandora's voice was light and wondering and Epimetheus realised that he would have done anything to keep her attention.
'I...wander a lot.' He said. Dumbly. 'Many of my brethren do not see me as someone to associate anymore, so I have a lot of time on my hands.'
'And you spend it well,' her attention was fixed solely upon the glittering cave, and Epimetheus was glad she did not ask him to elaborate on his past. He was more than happy to stay in the moment.
It was fascinating, he thought, how someone could feel so much pure joy for the world. Maybe it was his own jaded thinking, but he saw the places he collected in their pure form as atoms stacked on top of one another in a jumbled, disorganized mess. He collected them for the thought of having something nobody else did, but if she could find so much happiness in them, then maybe he had not been wrong to share.
They stayed like that for a bit, her staring blankly at the magnificent surroundings, and him staring blankly at her.
'I could show you a hundred places like this. One every day.' he said quickly, as the thought struck him that he did not want to leave her company.
It was as if she did not have to think for an answer. It was as if something within her answered in her stead. 'Yes.' she said, looking straight into his eyes.
He would always find more secrets, he would always be the keeper of those lost and forgotten moments that he treasured so dearly. But he could live without a few of those secrets.
'Oh! Also, you should probably know my name!' he said to her back, just as she was about to leave, 'my name is Epimetheus.'
It would have been redundant to say that Pandora was intrigued by her new friend, who always seemed to have a new, secret place filled with new and untold wonders for her. She had heard his name before, she was sure of it, but whenever they were together, there was always something more interesting to talk about, or something more eye-capturing to take in, so it never came up.
It was with him that she learnt to explore properly, in order to find the most hidden and beautiful of worlds within the world. He showed her hollows within the trees larger than one could imagine, within which everything seemed to be alive with light and colour and vibrancy, where Pandora saw squirrels that seemed like woodland sprites make their homes. He showed her the tops of mountains hidden in grey-white clouds, where she could watch over humanity, basking in their glory and her success in making them glorious. He was the only one who could help her still the endless, burning curiosity that lit her insides, cooling down in the wake of all the new things she could see and hear and feel and taste.
There was almost a ritualistic quality to their time together - every few days or weeks or months (Pandora quickly realised that time lost its meaning when you lived forever), he would show up with a dozen flowers and a dozen more places for them to haunt. She was quickly realising that although the world was finite, it held within it infinite possibilities.
It was on one such day, when they were both sprawled amongst the wildflowers of a forgotten village, now just crumbling walls and the natural vibrancy of the plants that grew through the crack in the wooden floors, that she wanted to spend more time with him, even without the wondrous backdrop of wherever he would take her. Maybe she even wanted more from the relationship she had with him as well.
'You know, the best part of my time with you is not the wonders,' she said to him, her voice carefully idle, masking her thundering heart. Epimetheus took a while to respond. How long was normal? She didn't know. Maybe she shouldn't have said that. Pandora knew she wasn't one for tact and shyness, but maybe she was going to regret her brashness. If there was one thing she did not want, it was to lose his friendship.
It was the first time she had acknowledged any feelings past a general friendship, and at her words, Epimetheus felt his divine soul leave his body. There was no time to lament the loss of his soul, however, because he had already been silent for so long that Pandora was looking worried.
'...Thank you?' maybe it would have been better if Epimetheus had not said anything at all. It would have certainly been better than the stumbling words he had just uttered. He might not have known much, but even he knew that one did not thank one's object of adoration if she was, for the first time, showing that she might be maybe reciprocating one's feelings.
'I mean, you pale in comparison to the wonders around you!' he quickly continued. Too quickly, it turned out, as what came out of his mouth was most definitely not what he expected.
'I - I' but by then Pandora was laughing, and Epimetheus and his red, flushed face could relax. He was so grateful, and also a little surprised, that she had not abandoned him for someone more eloquent by now.
'I think I love you.' She said, the words coming out so fast that Epimetheus could barely understand them, but considering that he had been thinking those same words, on repeat, almost since the first moment he saw her, at least he knew the answer to that statement.
'I love you too.'
Their wedding was a short, lively affair. Everyone knew everyone else in Olympus, so it wasn't ever a big deal if one of the most major deities knew you well, and vice versa, but they still hadn't expected the King of the Gods to show up. Still, even though Epimetheus had not been welcomed in the realm of deities throughout Pandora's memory, they still revelled in their wedding. It was almost as though they knew something she didn't, but it was nothing to dwell on during what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.
In the years to come, Pandora would say that she couldn't remember anything of the evening but a blinding happiness, but considering she literally was unable to forget a single moment of her existence that was a lie. In reality, when she looked back on her wedding day, she remembered the happiness and the vows and her husband, but mostly, she just remembered the jar. It had been the biggest wedding gift they had received, given to them by Zeus, the King of the Gods himself, and she hadn't been allowed near it, let alone to hold and touch it.
The King had taken her to-be husband aside, whispering something into his ear that made his eyes go wide and his face go slack with shock. Then the King had approached her. He had not congratulated her, he hadn't even greeted her. He had just said, shortly and gruffly, never to open, or even go near, his wedding gift to them. And then he had left, and not even Pandora was brave enough to go and question the king of the gods.
Years over years over decades passed, and Pandora was content. Epimetheus never wavered in his love for her, and although her worldly experiences were limited, she remembered Hera's continued laments about her cheating, derisive husband. She hadn't been in existence for long, at least by the standards of immortals, but Pandora had travelled the world. There was beauty in those forgotten corners of the Earth where even the gods did not tread, where her only company were the chirping birds and the cold, ever-present consciousness of the Earth mother, Gaia. The dirt under her feet sometimes pulled at her, her tiny, firefly-bright being not nearly enough to resist the lure of forces far too great to understand, who thrived in the shadows, in the spaces between places where nobody ruled.
And yet. Her curiosity was relentless, and as she fed it with new wonders, holy and human, hellish and handsome, it only seemed to grow stronger with age and knowledge. Everyday, something inside her was pulled to the wedding gift that had been for her husband's eyes only. Every day, she spent seconds that turned into minutes that turned into hours staring, endlessly staring, at the accursed object that haunted her dreams and tortured her waking existence. Every day, the glinting golden veins that mapped a road on the pale, porcelain surface of the jar danced at the edge of her vision, the elegant stopper seemed to be begging to be let go.
The day was as beautiful as they got, the sun shining in a cobalt blue sky, and her husband was out with humanity. His good nature extended to all things living, and under his guidance, humanity had prospered from living in caves to creating art that left the muses themselves enthralled. He wasn't home, and Pandora was staring at the jar again. It would have helped if she had known why she couldn't open in, but Epimetheus had sworn to never reveal it to her, and he was a man of his word. She wondered idly if this was some kind of test - to see how long she could resist her nature, to test the strength of her love to her husband against the strength of her curiosity. Or maybe there was something important inside it, something that needed to stay inside the jar. Well, Pandora wasn't going to remove anything from its home, she just wanted to know what was in it.
The need to know was a physical sensation, pulling her towards the jar like a fish caught in a hook. Lingering in the doorway, Pandora finally stepped into the room that housed the one thing she could not know about. As she moved closer and closer, Pandora could feel butterflies forming in her stomach, her entire body heating and then superheating with an insatiable desire to know. She had never disliked her curiosity, that had made her special and different from the rest of the gods, nor had she ever denied its rule over her desires, over her entire life.
Today, in this moment when the marble floor was burning even her red-hot feet, when the sun was streaming in through the crystal windows and causing the golden veins of the jar to glow like rivers of magma, when her echoing steps were the only noise in the house, Pandora hated her curiosity. Her shaking finger gripping the jar, its cool porcelain sides soothing against her burning fingers. Her mind was a haze of self-loathing and a fearful, terrifying, greedy sort of joy. Delicate nails prised open the tightly closed lid, bending slightly against its stiffness. Her breath was coming out in short bursts; there was no going back now.
Pandora's mind, her sense, came back to her in a rush that seemed to magnify and saturate the pale scenery before her, and with a gasp, the porcelain jar fell from her fingers. They said that curiosity killed the cat, and Pandora was as feline as one ever could be.
Her first thought was that there was nothing inside the jar, that it was a rather disappointing experience, after all. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, the first of the black drops began poking out from under delicate porcelain. Under her eyes, bright from tears of anticipation and fear, the jar bled inky blackness, that seemed to swallow everything it touched until there was only a shadowy mass. Had there ever really been a jar?
She stared into the pool for a long time, lost in the visions. All she could see was a startling lack of light, and as she stared deep into the puddle of shadows, voices whispered into her ears, and vivid pictures entered her mind unbidden. She saw famine, people dying in their hundreds, people wandering lost in blindness and sickness, succumbing to death and living unfulfilled, loveless lives. Voices muttered that she had brought the plague, death, war, heartsickness and despondency onto humankind. They would all live lives of pain and fear and injustice, and she would be responsible for all of their suffering. They would never be happy again.
Eventually the images died out, and Pandora was left with her own thoughts, which were almost worse. First, she couldn't believe her visions were real. Why would the gods give this as a wedding present? Was it a symbol of their trust in my husband? How could they not tell me? Then, her head came back to her as she remembered the callousness of the Gods, of Zeus. she thought back to her making, to memories that she had hidden so deep within herself that she had almost forgotten they existed. She remembered back to the conversations she wasn't supposed to hear.
She will be the harbinger of death and sickness and human misery. Zeus had said to the gods, a manic light in his eyes. And he will be left to feel her regret and sorrow.
It was her purpose, it had always been her purpose. This was why the gods had created her. The disbelief was beginning to give way to a deep, terrible sadness. She hated herself. She hated herself so much. If her purpose was to bring misery to humankind, then she should never have existed. She wanted to never have existed. And so Pandora cried. She cried tears that relived those terrible visions, that heard again those terrible voices, that flooded the room and cleared out the black, lightless stain on the pure white floor.
She cried for what seemed to be a never-ending time. She cried until a small voice, almost nonexistent, interrupted her flood of self-pity. You shall have hope, Pandora, and so shall humanity. A small, tear shaped bit of golden light still lay there, amongst the broken shards of the jar. I will not abandon humanity, as love and contentedness and stability have. I will be there for them, and I will be there for you. It was like swimming upwards with legs tied together with weights, but Pandora rose from her sorrow. Maybe she hadn't ruined what her brother in law had sacrificed everything for? Gently with cupped hands, Pandora lifted the remaining light from its home within the ragged glass shards.
'Who are you?' she asked in a husky, tear-tired voice, curiosity prevailing even amongst her deadening sadness, her terrible self-loathing.
I am the light at the end of the tunnel. I am the incessant tugging you feel towards a future where everything is better, where everything is good. I am the only constant in the lives of humans. I am hope.
Eventually, the sun began to sink, turning the brilliantly white room a thousand shades of gold. Epimetheus's footsteps rang in the house that was silent other than Pandora's sobs. She didn't see him enter the room. She wouldn't have admitted it later, but she hadn't realised his being there until he had his arms around her, holding her shaking body for hours, until she had tired herself out enough to stop crying halfway through the night.
The next morning, in the dull grey shadows of gathering clouds, Pandora awoke to a breakfast of fresh fruit and bread, laid out on the cold floor beside her.
'I am so sorry,' Pandora said. It would never be enough, she knew that, but it still felt good to get the words that had been sitting in her throat since he had entered the room, out. Epimetheus was sitting on the floor with her, lost in thought. Blinking as though coming out of a particularly interesting daydream, he nodded. He knew there was no point in wasting time on useless reassurances.
'I don't mind, you know,' her husband said. 'That you broke the jar, I mean. It was ugly, anyway.'
'Did Zeus ever tell you what was in the jar, or why I wasn't to be allowed to open it?' Pandora asked. She had to know.
Epimetheus blinked. 'He simply told me it was a wedding gift. He said he told you the same?'
She couldn't hold it in any longer. 'It held the spirit of misery, and all of her children. Sleep and pain and horror and fear and famine. Disease and death and sorrow and strife. Their prison was shattered and broken with the shards of that cursed jar. I freed them. I freed them, and they will lay waste to our brother's life work. The humans will be scattered and ruined. That perfect race that Prometheus spent his existence working on, I have destroyed in a moment. The race, with millions upon millions of lives in its balance, I have destroyed through a single action.' The words came out fast, blurring together in her haste to get them out. They tasted bitter in her mouth.
Epimetheus took her hand, and when he spoke, it was in a low, dangerous voice. 'The King of the Gods is a mad sadist.' he said, 'his actions are never what they seem; his every word is a double edged blade. I should have known that our life together was not what it seemed. I should have known that this would only end in unhappiness. His statement hit Pandora like a physical blow. She tore her hand from his, blinking back tears of sadness and shame. She should have known it would end like this. She was unforgivable. She did not notice the way Epimetheus's eyes widened as he realised the impact of his words. She did not notice the way his mouth opened, as if to take back his words. Pandora fled.
Epimetheus searched for his wife endlessly. He searched at the bottom of the deepest pits in the darkest parts of the ocean. He searched in every cave and hollow and hole that the Earth opened into. He searched in the leafy tips of the trees that scraped the top of the sky, and he searched in the ethereal, grey clouds that rumbled their constant displeasure. No stone was left unturned, and when he was finished, the whole world looked dishevelled, as though a child had tore into it with its bare hands. It could have been seconds, it could have been days, it could have been years. He didn't know how long it had been, but eventually he circled back to where he had started.
The hollow under Mt Olympus was little known to the gods, them preferring to stay on their palaces and thrones near the top of the world. But to Epimetheus and Pandora, the place they had first met each other held a permanent piece in their hearts. Ice was crusted on the stalactites, and the lake was shining with a thin sheen of frost, as winter slowly crept in. A silhouette stood at the edge of the lake, and in its reflection, he could see Pandora's face shining back. She didn't turn, even though he knew she could hear his footsteps, that seemed almost obnoxiously loud in the deafening silence. Epimetheus's ears were ringing with the words he had not said to her, with the words he had practised for seconds or days or years.
'I know that I am unforgivable, my love.' Pandora spoke first, without turning. Her voice was heavy with resignation. 'But I will repent. I will repent every day of my eternal existence, and although I do not expect you to forgive me, I could not live with myself if I knew you thought me to be as callous as I must seem. You -'
'I do not forgive you.' Epimetheus couldn't hold his words in any longer. 'I do not forgive you because you have never done anything that required forgiveness in the first place.' Pandora turned to face him, her cheeks sallow and tear-stained. How long had she been here?
'It is I who must beg your forgiveness.' Epimetheus forged onwards, 'for I cannot even put into words how much I regret what I said to you. My mind was lost to the moment, and my anger towards our King blinded me to your plight. It is towards him that my words were directed; I would never say a single word against you.' his speech had sounded better in his head, but now that the words were out in the open, all he could do was hope that they would be well received.
Pandora could not hold herself back any longer. 'I love you,' she had meant to shout it, to cry the words and scream them and announce them to the whole Earth, but they came out as a whisper meant for only the two of them. She ran into his arms. They stayed like that for a long time.
Eventually, her husband began to shake in her arms. She looked, and he was laughing. 'This will sound as though I have no sense,' he started, still laughing, 'but I have to know. Did the King of the Gods tell you as well that the jar held the spirit of our everlasting love, and that we must not break it, lest our love disappears with it?'
He must have understood by the blank, incredulous look on Pandora's face, that she knew none of what he was saying. 'Never mind, I was foolish with love on our wedding night.' his smile was drunk in love, and Pandora felt giddy butterflies flying through her insides. 'Still, I will know better from now on to trust a kind gesture from our esteemed ruler.'
'You were ready to accept that I had destroyed our love? You truly trusted me enough, that we would still be, without a symbol of faithfulness?' Pandora's voice was light and wondering. Epimetheus laughed.
'Of course. I trust you, and I trust us to be better than a spirit that holds our emotions hostage, no matter how false that actual spirit be. I believe that you will love me when we wake tomorrow, and I trust you to believe the same of me.'
'...you are truly the best thing that has ever happened to me.'
Her husband went red, and Pandora laughed. She laughed because it was over; the inevitable had happened, she had fulfilled her purpose, and maybe after she repented, it would all be over. She laughed in surprise, the cold, clear air driving tiny, refreshing needles into her skin. But most of all, Pandora laughed because she loved Epimetheus so, so terribly much.
It was years before Pandora realised that the death, the sickness and the famine that she had released on humanity had barely slowed its stride. She could not imagine living with the constant threat of danger hanging over her head, she would ever be able to imagine thriving in such a situation. Their fear in the face of what any other being would consider complete and utter futility was short-lived, and their resilience led them to make the most of what they had left. It was years before she dared to look down and see the destruction she was sure she had caused, to instead gaze upon hundreds of towns and villages and cities that rivalled the work of the gods themselves.
It was longer before she dared to accept that her mistakes were not all-consuming, that maybe she could learn to forgive herself.
And so humanity carried on. They fought and they loved and they built great things that outlasted them for generations. Death didn't slow them down - it just forced their achievements to come one after another, their lives as short and bright as the moment of a star's death, and just as destructively beautiful. Hope had kept its promise, both to her and to humanity.
Pandora kept repenting for her one mistake, but she learnt to live with the guilt, and she learnt to once again accept her curiosity as a part of herself - a part of herself she could not live without. She once again began to visit the humans every single day - even more often than her husband. She helped them learn and discover and create. She gave them knowledge of the gods, and wisdom enough to keep their opinions of that knowledge to themselves. She taught them art and poetry and mathematics and science. She dedicated the entirety of her immortal life to humanity and its achievements.
Yes, they blamed her for their misfortunes, but they should blame her, is what she told herself every time a mural was dedicated to her mistakes, to her 'naivety'. She told herself to not become angry, she told herself that she deserved their hatred. But the first time she heard a human orator preach her virtues, she almost wept with happiness. They had accepted her once more.
'Should we not thank her, who gave us the unceasing dissatisfaction that gives us a purpose?' the orator asked his audience, 'should we not be grateful for the fuel that drove us to build homes, create families, and govern ourselves? Our ancestors lived in contentment. They were content with their mud huts, hunting every day for a meagre diet, living to eat and sleep and hunt. Our desire, the desire She gave us, to do better, to want more, to love harder and without restraint, is what has given us our short, bright lives that we so cherish!' it was clear the orator had not finished. It was also clear that that fact did not matter, for the audience burst into an applause so loud, so thunderous, that it drowned out the rest of his words.
The gods watched from their place in the clouds. They smiled absently, but they had mostly forgotten Pandora ever having existed. Hadn't she been made for a purpose? They couldn't remember. It had been too long ago, an event too insignificant in the expanse of their infinite years alive.