she was a Grecian sculpture. if the Gods could stop fighting for a millisecond, they might have created her. there was Zeus in her ambition, Hera in her secrecy. even from within, there was Hades, smiling, but never committing his heresy. there was torture wrought on her face from knowledge taught to her – yet her wisdom shown through in Athenian words, rippling from her mouth like a skirt in the breeze, except hers were filled with intent and promise. she was the spawn of Apollo and had his creativity, his sanguinity. she played the flute with agility and Artemis draped her in meticulous mannerisms and melancholy moods. yet she hid it all from me, one of the many gifts she gained from Aphrodite. she was gorgeous – build with bones of ceramic and every ounce of emotion was so dynamic. if not the Gods, then Michelangelo himself sculpted her: I could not imagine someone more purely divine. she had the careful nature and motherly love of Demeter; she wrapped her friends in bear hugs and relegated her problems to the periphery. so far away, she forgot what they were; then, like the horsemen of the apocalypse, they stampeded her with anguish and snatched her from us all too soon. and every moment, I miss her: I miss the crafty smile she stole from Hermes, ever the bearer of news. even when she was angry, she was a blissful gift: Ares crafted her anger into passion and stoked her flame when all of us tried to flush it out. it’s only a shame she was given so much of Poseidon’s dichotomy – as she was blazing in one instant, she faded away the next. she faded into the ocean, stones filling her pockets, silently slipping under rough waves and distressed sailors. she dissolved like salt into the ocean and that faint glow left of the hearth, her mother Hestia’s dimly burning hearth – in the tumultuous tides, she forgot to sustain such a rare and precious gift. and in her weighted walk into the water, she took all of Olympus down with her.