She felt old.
Every mistress of her husband seemed so young, full of lustful youth or youthful innocence.
She felt ugly.
The flowing locks, flawless skin, perky breasts, jutting butt, wide hips...
She felt helpless.
Time and time and time again, she would wreak havoc on the life of the current mistress, only to have another one - even younger and prettier than the last- take her place.
To many onlookers, she was a monster, making war with women (an army of women, if you will) who did not have a snowballs chance in Hades of protecting themselves. Because she, Hera, as Queen of the Gods had power, everyone assumed. She was powerful.
But she did not feel like it.
She did not enjoy destroying these women's lives. Deep inside of herself, she knew they had little to no chance of resisting her husband.
He was a god. He was persistent, powerful, and very persuading. And what he did not get, he took.
And Hera tried to reason that with herself. But, when some nights, as she lay spread out for hours, waiting and willing for Zeus to come and carry her to a bliss that was beyond Mount Olympus, and it would slowly dawn on her that he was out in bliss with some other women, she felt a rage beyond her controlling. Her anger, humiliation and shame, would force her, almost unconsciously, to pour out her feelings of hatred down upon the lady of favour at the moment.
And afterwards, she would feel a regret her pride would not let her admit.
She grew resigned.
She would welcome him home through expressions weary of tired hugs and weak smiles. She would smell the perfume of other women on his tunic as he walked by her to shower, and she would not ask. He would lay next to her and coil his arm around her, stroke her hair, whisper in her ear, kiss her neck...and she would only be able to think, indifferently, that he had probably went through these same motions with another woman just a few hours before. But she would not speak.
She determined to suffer in silence when it came to him. Then she would make others suffer.
She had admirers a' plenty. But she recoiled to any advances. She did not desire anyone but Zeus, and she would not stoop to a lower level in order to make Zeus jealous. As tempting though it was...But she was the Goddess of Marriage! How could she possibly do such a thing?
But she felt more than she thought, always had. Her emotions, if strong enough, would overcome any logical thinking. And that's exactly what happened when she met Enamore