Tears dripped from my eyes slowly, my photographic memory betraying me with images of my friends, my enemies, my family all dying as I clutched their hands, assuring them I would be right behind them, following them to the Underworld.

But I didn't. I was fully expected to, heck I fully expected to die, but I didn't.

I fisted my skirt tightly with both hands; then I let it fall to the floor again. Damn Christians, I thought idly. Tearing down polytheism. I'm just as real as your God, if not more so.

I sighed heavily as I stepped around piles of rubble, finding the spot among the stone with a few blankets wedged in a crack. I pulled the soft things out, then bunched them up in a small heap, careful of the pebbles and such underneath, and I curled up into a small ball on the dirty gray fabric. I stared up at the ceiling above me, took in the once-beautiful columns. They were still beautiful, but in a different way. I remembered when it was first built and painted, lovely hues of red and blue and gold. Father had been so jealous, even though it was a monument to all the gods (but specifically me).

Now the Parthenon, my home, was slowly crumbing around me, and I could do nothing about it.