Athena stood in front of a block of marble, chiselling a work of art.
Art was something she was familiar with. She was the goddess of it after all. No one weaved prettier tapestries and covers, painted as skilfully or chiselled a statue as well as she could.
She was making a statue of Ares.
Hera had asked her to, because she wanted to decorate the dining room with statues of the twelve Olympians. Twelve, because two more had joined them in the meantime.
Athena was glad, that Ares hadn't seen his statue yet. He would just brag and tease her to no end, until she would struggle to resist the urge to rip his head off.
Once done with her work, she asked the Queen of Olympos to evaluate the statue.
Hera nodded in approval: "Well done, Athena. If I didn't know better, I would mistake this statue for my son at first glance! You even captured his crazy grin! It looks, like he is about to jump off the pedestal! Flawless as always, my dear."
Athena duly lowered her head. "You give me too much credit, Hera."
But the brown-eyed goddess shook her head with a gracious smile. "Nonsense. I give credit, where credit is due. I will now leave and tend to my duties."
"Thank you. I do have to finish Hephaistos and Dionysos."
Athena smiled after the retreating queen.
While Hera could be a living Tartaros for almost all of her step-children, this did not apply to Athena. The bright-eyed goddess wasn't a bastard, no product of a liaison. Her mother Metis had been Zeus' first wife and Athena simply had grown up inside her father's head, before being born.
Metis had helped Zeus save his siblings from the body of Khronos and in addition had been Hera's childhood friend. So Hera became a second mother to Athena – which was more than most other deities could say. And Athena was fond of her difficult step-mother.
She turned back to the remaining blocks of marble and sighed in satisfaction.
After all, she had put quite a lot of effort into Ares' statue.
Not that she would ever admit it, but she had invested more work into his statue than into all of the others. But all of her statues were flawless, so no one would notice.
Still, she wanted to show off, make him speechless and show him that she was better.
Because she was. In every way.
She was, and always would be, "Miss Perfect".
And she would never feel anything but loathing for Ares.
Ares strolled through the room and glared at the statues Athena had made.
Especially at his own.
Hey, this statue is a perfect replica of you!, the voice in his head remarked.
"Yeah, no shit", he growled under his breath.
There was no denying, she had done well. That piece of rock looked exactly like him, from the blood red cloak to the wild shock of black and red hair and the grim expression.
How the Tartaros did that woman do that, everything she started always ended up being perfect!
But he noticed something else.
The other gods apparently couldn't tell, but Ares, albeit not an art expert, had keen eyes: his statue had been worked on more intensely than the others. Only Zeus' and Hera's statues had been carved to look this lively.
The war god got the message and his glare hardened. Of course, that blasted wisdom goddess had to show off on his statue of all things, huh?
"Do you like how Athena depicted you?"
Ares jumped and whirled around, startled by his mother's voice.
He scowled, but begrudgingly admitted: "I recognise myself, I suppose."
Hera grinned smugly, knowing that this was the closest her son would come to praising his half-sister's work.
He snorted, rushing out of the room and went back to his own place to let off some steam.
He was so angry!
It was always Athena this, Athena that!
By Tartaros, how he hated her!
How badly he wanted to grab her long, thin neck and snap it like a twig! Sadly, she was an immortal goddess and Zeus would incinerate him with a thunderbolt for touching "his little Owl-Eye" (because screw the fact, that Athena was taller than her father!).
He hated, how she was smarter than him. She always knew everything better, how everybody else loved her, his own parents included. Even the mortals liked her better!
He hated, how she always would tell him, that what he did wasn't "wise".
He hated, how she was stronger than him. In every conflict she overpowered him and it made him go mad with rage and envy.
pHe hated, how she looked down on him (everyone did, but that wasn't the point!). In her eyes, she was a savage and a stupid thug and he knew it.
He hated, how she judged him for what he did. Yes, he had blood on his hands, was violent and loved war for war's sake. But how did that give HER the right to judge him?!
Had she ever asked for his point of view?
Had she ever bothered to get to know his friends?
Had she ever even wondered, why he hung out with those guys?
Well, surprise, surprise, NO!
Miss Smartarse had never even tried to understand him!
Because Athena was oh-so-perfect, good at everything, wise, modest, compassionate, virtuous, strong, untouchable, blablabla!
Except that she wasn't perfect at all!
To Ares, she was just a holier-than-thou, a dirty trickster with no more empathy than himself.
He would never feel anything but loathing for Athena.