P A N D O R A

Pandora was summoned to save mankind because Prometheus had unleashed fire, and with it came the odour of flesh burning, of men burning. They screamed for mercy. They screamed for winter again. They screamed for death's kiss.

Winter, they asked for. Winter, they got.

* * *

It was cold. Impossibly cold. Prometheus couldn't understand why the gods were so cruel, and why his knotted fingers shook even after blowing a brittle breath on his hugging hands. His eyes were brittle. A shade of blue that mirrored the last summer sky before Zeus had prisoned him on Earth with his brother Epimetheus. All Prometheus wanted was to feel heat pool his stomach and fire through his skin. He didn't care about the cost or if he burned or if he died. Warmth, he wanted.

Warmth, he got. At a cost, of course. He suffered and mankind prevailed. The gods were not pleased, so they got Prometheus—the sculptor of men—to sculpt the first woman. With an eye for beauty, one that longed for the fire he never got to experience, he complied. 

Mount Olympus had many pockets and pores. Dusted at the peak with snow, the gods threw Prometheus into a narrow cave at the base of the mountain so that he would the suffer the numbing cold of another winter. The earth continued to burn but the gods favoured winter. They provided him with a lump of clay, two baubles, a toothpick and a lump of gold. With the clay he formed an hourglass figure, with the baubles he fashioned two eyes, with the toothpick he etched in the finest details and with the gold he spun a waterfall of hair. 

Every sunrise, Zeus would demand, "Is she ready?"

Every nightfall, Prometheus would tilt his head to an angle and study the stiff woman. "Almost," he'd reply.

He worked hard to shave off the clay on her face so that her jawline was soft and curved. He worked harder to thin her brows so that they could embrace emotions. He worked hardest on her eyes, dull marbles with no colour, pits of darkness that should have shone like blinking stars.

"Is she ready?" Zeus demanded, storming into Prometheus' cave with eyes that could rouse a storm from sleep.

"Almost," Prometheus replied, watching the stiff woman. Unblinking, she was still as a statue and cold as a corpse.

"Is she ready?" Zeus demanded, riding a grey mare the size of a boar, with a chest so large that the ground shook with its every heartbeat.

"Almost," Prometheus promised, caressing the woman's damp cheeks. His chest ached and he quietly wondered why a woman who could put Aphrodite to shame would grasp sadness above all the other emotions he had equipped her with.

"Am I ready?" Pandora whispered, leaning into his palms. The warmth that radiated from her was a thousand times the heat of fire. Prometheus thought that she would be the earth's sun if the gods left her beauty untouched.

He nodded. "You are ready."

* * *

Pandora was cuffed and wrenched away from Prometheus' safe hands. She was strapped to a marble column shooting out of the peak of Mount Olympus and was made to stand in front of an audience of deities in nothing but a waterfall of gold that Aphrodite fashioned into a complex braid. Pandora's neck strained, unable to bear the weight of gold for hair, but the gods ooh-ed and ahh-ed approvingly. Chin up, chest out, she let their grubby fingers taint Prometheus' perfection. Icy fingers pressed into her warm skin, banishing the sun that Prometheus had sewn inside her chest.

Athena prodded at Pandora's fleshy stomach, displeased. Aphrodite snipped off a golden lock and wove it through her own fiery hair. Apollo pressed his lips to her neck and spelled out notes until Pandora could sing them back to him. Poseidon dug his thumbs into her eyes until they bruised a pretty blue. Zeus was about to bestow his gift with an allusive smirk when Hades arrived on a black chariot that rattled and roared. The box in Zeus' palms shuddered, glowing like a pulsating heartbeat, set with gemstones of colours that wouldn't exist for another century. Pandora could not look away. The corner of Zeus' lips rose at her response, and kept on rising.

"Enough!" Hades roared. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Come to join the celebration?" Aphrodite asked, the sound of birds cooing.

"Celebration?" His eyes, matte darkness, found Pandora's. Prometheus gifted her with every emotion yet she could not decipher eyes that held no reflection. "This is no celebration," he added darkly. 

"Of course it's a celebration," Zeus boomed. Pandora felt her insides quake and tremble. "The first mortal woman stands before you."

Hades' flat eyes lost all depth. "I can see that," he drawled. "So what exactly are you celebrating? Abuse? Misconduct?" He scoffed and stared down his brothers and siblings. Hestia's silver eyes prickled with shame. Demeter lowered her gaze. "You're all acting like starved wolves and setting a poor example for our guest."

Zeus distinguished himself by stepping forward. "It is not up to you to call upon us, Hades. Go back to the hole from which you came and cater to souls who actually need your console."

Head to head, the brothers glared at each other. One dark, one light, like two sides of the same moon. Zeus' chest rose and fell. Hades was relatively calm. Zeus could not harm him because who else would be damned enough to govern the underworld?

"Who is in charge of depositing the human girl?" Hades asked, addressing all the Olympians though his eyes never left Zeus'.

"Well who do you think?" Zeus drawled, narrowing his eyes.

"Not you, I hope."

Zeus clenched his jaw, set square and cut sharp. He glared at Hades until the only sound that echoed was Pandora's shallow breaths. "Fine," Zeus finally said. "Take her. Add another mortal to you pathetic collection."

First Hades got Aphrodite to cloak Pandora in silks and pins and sandals before they started their descent from the mountain.

"Why does Zeus hate you?" Pandora asked, carefully, shyly.

Hades didn't regard her when he admitted, "I fell in love with his daughter and saw her fit to rule beside me in the underworld." He turned his head to an angle, dark eyes seeking her. "Had I known you were in existence, maybe I wouldn't have gone through all that trouble."

Stretches of heat stained Pandora's cheeks. "What is her name?"

"Persephone," he replied with warmth, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "She looks a lot like you, except the opposite."

"That doesn't make sense." Pandora's brow crinkled and Hades reached out to smooth it away.

"To you, it wouldn't. To me, it makes all the difference."

Unsure of whether to take offence or feel flattered, Pandora nodded once and they resumed their stroll. She noted that the earth was flourishing with greenery; roses, petunias, daffodils, daisies, carnations, rows and rows of flowers, glittering in the sun like precious stones. But wherever Hades trod, the earth darkened and curled in on itself. Flowers crumbled, tree roots shrank back and animals fled. Under Pandora's bare feet, webbed ice formed, spreading out like a puddle of silver.

"What's happening?" Pandora cried when her heels prickled and stung. "Why are you killing nature and why am I freezing it?"

Hades chuckled. "Prometheus stole fire from Olympus. You were created to balance his mistake." Pandora remained confused. Hades found himself very much liking the funny crease between her brows. It was the only flaw that Prometheus saw fit to keep. Without it she would look like another one of the goddesses. "He brought mankind summer," he clarified.

"So that would make me winter."

He nodded and she let out a sound from the back of her throat, a light snort.

"What's so amusing, Pandora?"

"You." She stopped and steadied her gaze on his. "Your siblings. The rest of the Olympians. You're all so fickle."

"Fickle?" he echoed, a throaty chuckle surfacing. "Careful now, mortal."

But she wasn't careful. She didn't know how to be careful. The gods bestowed nothing of that sort upon her. Instead Prometheus gave her lungs, so she took a deep breath and explained, "You all tremble at the mention of mankind's growing power, so terrified of your own creations. Eternal summer is something this earth needs after decades of winter. Mortals cannot survive winter for long. When Prometheus stole fire from Zeus, he gave men the chance to choose their own fate. And that scared Zeus." She tilted her head to the side, noting the halo of light that Hades carried with him just like the rest of the Olympians. "It scares you, too." 

"Prometheus gave men fire, indeed. But men chose to burn." Hades waved a hand at the red blush across the sky. What first appeared to be a sunset to Pandora actually turned out to be the reflection of a raging forest fire.

"Because men did not know how to contain fire," she explained quietly. "Nobody warned them that fire spreads and that it cannot be put out when it gets too strong."

"Nobody told Prometheus to play God, either."

Pandora rolled her eyes. "Well someone had to do something and clearly your brother isn't very good at whatever it is he does."

Hades didn't laugh or grace her with one of his handsome smiles. Instead he studied her carefully until she was aware of every hand that jabbed her skin and rearranged her features. She felt the ghostly imprint of Athena tweaking her nose to the side, of Aphrodite's hands touching her in intimate places so that she would be ready for mankind. She felt Hera yanking her hair and Hermes palming her feet and Apollo kissing her throat. She felt Prometheus' mouth on hers, cool and gentle, a flame starting in her throat before she gulped quickly. A hiccup, a soft cry.

"You've grown strangely fond of your maker," Hades commented. He had an eye for all that the other gods missed. Pandora didn't deny it. "Zeus is still going to punish Prometheus."

She flinched but held her tongue back. She knew that the gods could hear them. "Could you possibly... Maybe you could do something to..."

"Save him?"

"Yes. Save him."

"I cannot do that."

"You mean, you wish not to."

"I wish to solve all disputes with as little bloodshed as possible but all sins must be atoned for."

"Meaning that you will leave Prometheus to suffer."

"Meaning that I will make sure he suffers only for what he has done wrong."

Pandora lapped up his promise with a gracious smile, immense relief winging through her like the brisk wind she had been condemned to always carry with her.

"Thank you."

Hades pursed his lips, knowing that her gratitude would soon morph into despair, and that he would be the one, out of the Twelve Olympians, to draw out her hamartia. With a departing kiss on her blushing cheek, he left her on Epimetheus' doorstep.

* * *

Epimetheus was a spitting image of his brother—curling flames licking his brow and a summer sky for his eyes. His hands held the same security but there was a gentleness he lacked that Prometheus had demonstrated with his deft fingers and lingering kisses.

Their union was brief, and their consummation was briefer. Pandora stared at the ceiling, blank as she was before Prometheus coaxed life into her. Every time she blinked she saw an imprint of Zeus' gift. Acid burned under the surface of her skin, torturous toward her cold aching bones. Just like she couldn't decipher Hades' bottomless eyes, she was unable to pinpoint the burn that Zeus had planted inside her. She was winter, cold to touch and colder to behold, yet she was feverish when Epimetheus finally finished with her.

The next morning their bedroom was glowing red. The sun was hidden behind a mass of clouds but the red in the sky was enough to bleed light onto Pandora's face. She cracked open an eyelid and spied a box perched on a pedestal in front of the balcony. Zeus must have broken in last night to dispatch his wedding gift.

Pandora eased her sore body towards the balcony, her soundless footsteps leaving behind puddles of ice. She stared at the box and then lifted her gaze to the blood in the sky, scouring the horizon for the end of summer. Men were burning out there. She could hear their cries and felt the thunder of their escape when her hands curled around the wooden banister of the balcony.

An hour passed. Then two, then three. The sun arced overhead, burning relentlessly. Zeus' box remained untouched until two strong arms coiled around Pandora's waist from behind, large hands hanging over her navel like a necklace. Pandora reached for the box, an instinct to protect it from her husband. It dug into her palms, ivory cutting into her skin until blood trickled up her wrists like thin snakes. Gravity played no part here. The blood etched a path up her arms, painful as a promise, sharp as a blade. Up, it slithered—across her shoulders and into her mouth. She tasted metals not yet mined, she tasted copper and a tang of iron. Then she tasted ice and stiffened.

"What is that? Another wedding gift from the gods?" Epimetheus asked sleepily, eyelids cracking open a fraction and lips parting on the base of her throat. Her beauty distracted him.

"Something like that," Pandora murmured back. "Zeus gave it to me."

Epimetheus jerked backwards and whirled his bride around, spinning her so quickly that her hair fanned outwards like sunlight refracting in every direction.

"Zeus gave it to you?" he echoed, face drained of all colour. His fingers pressed into her skin until ice began to spread outwards like a webbed nightgown made from white lace.

"Yes." She held the box closer to his face, unable to understand why a box so small weighed so much. The world's weight seemed like nothing compared to the contents inside the box.

"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked. Pandora, wary of Zeus' ominous smirk, shook her head. "Why not?"

"I have no reason to."

There was a bolt of lightning, somewhere far off in the east where a storm was brewing. Pandora's lips curled into a smile, triumphant. Epimetheus released her and nodded shakily. "Okay," he said. He raked a hand through his hair. "Okay, as long as you keep true to your word." He reached for the box. Pandora's hand automatically jumped out of reach. Her eyes widened in shock and his narrowed. "Give me the box, Pandora."

"I-I... I can't."

"Give me the box, Pandora!"

Epimetheus peeled her fingers off the clasp and took the box. Pandora hurried after him, clutching her robes to avoid tripping down the stairs. But Epimetheus had vanished. And so had the box.

The next morning came and the box had been returned, placed back on its pedestal in their bedroom. Epimetheus woke first, spotted the dazzling box, and cursed the gods under his breath before creeping out to bury it in the same hiding spot. But the gods were all-seeing and all-hearing, cunning and cruel, deceitful and determined. They knew this would happen.

The third morning came and the box had been returned. It glowed in the morning light, brighter than yesterday and duller that tomorrow. Epimetheus groaned, palmed his eyes until his vision cleared and tiptoed away from his sleeping wife.

The fourth morning came and the box had been returned. It no longer needed light, for it had a light of its own. It shone, blinding Epimetheus into wakefulness. He stretched his lean body and shielded his eyes. He shielded Pandora from the Olympians' gaze, but on the fifth day Pandora woke up, puzzled by the empty space beside her.

"Go back to sleep, my love," Epimetheus said to her.

"But the room is so bright. Morning has come and I have so much to do. The gardens will not take care of themselves."

"It's that damned box again. Go to bed, my love."

She faked a yawn and watched him carry the box away.

When the sixth morning arrived, Pandora awoke to the sound of a hammer striking metal. Metal on metal, screeching. Steel screaming. Epimetheus grunting, slick with sweat, triumphant when the box exploded into thousands of shards. Glass rained down on them, first sharp and then soundless.

"I have won," Epimetheus cried, kissing his bride as he twirled her around in tight circles.

"Indeed you have," Pandora replied when later it came to her to pick up the pieces. The glass rattled on the floor, alive and buzzing with energy, slowly coming back together. Horrified, she watched the box reassemble itself.

On the seventh morning Pandora was the first to wake up. Haunted with nightmares of the underworld, she sat up and clutched the bed sheets, her long nails puncturing her palms through the fabric, red staining white. Doused in a cone of moonlight, the box awaited her fingers. She ran her thumb over the clasp, lifting it up a fraction. A screech came from its mouth and she slammed the box closed again.

"Pandora?" Epimetheus murmured in his sleep when she settled down to sleep again. Plagued with more nightmares, she pressed her face into his chest.

"Go back to sleep, my love."

Her chest ached, a flower of winter spreading its roots through her veins. Ice familiarised itself. The gods had fashioned her out of dishonesty, after all.

And on the eighth morning, Pandora was physically wrenched from her bed like a demon from the underworld, like the same Furies that had been tormenting her for seven nights. She cried for Prometheus, for Hades. Her fingernails scraped the floor, leaving behind a trail of red. She screamed, no sound. She thrashed, no sound. Apollo had given her a voice, and now he took it away.

She clawed at the box, clawed at her face, clawed the ceiling until Zeus broke her fingers. One by one. Crack. Crack. Crack. They fumbled with the clasp, kicked open the lid and—

"What did you do?" Epimetheus screamed, fingers digging into his temples as he fell to his knees. He could hear all that she couldn't.

"I'm sorry," she cried soundlessly, forever a mute from this point forward. "I'm so sorry."

Horrors were unleashed: large, winged beasts that flapped out of the balcony window like a thousand bats, shrieking and howling and cackling, red eyed and fanged. Some tore at Epimetheus and some at Pandora. She watched him cry and press his brow to the floor, unable to keep the world's misery from seeping into his bones. Pain, agony, sickness, suffering, hate. And hope. Hope that despite the mess she'd made, beauty could come from it.

And so the opening of the box sparked the start of the the Silver Age: a cycle of death and rebirth because man was now subjected to death and women could now bear children. Beyond the horror, there came beauty. The gods never saw it coming. They never saw us coming. That the pain Pandora unleashed didn't come from the box. That the pain she unleashed came from her, a result of all the probing they had done to her before the soft skin of her feet touched soil for the first time.

***

Pandora had been summoned to save mankind because Prometheus had unleashed fire, and with it came the odour of flesh burning, of men burning. They had screamed for mercy. They had screamed for winter again. They had screamed for death's kiss. Winter, they asked for; and winter is exactly what they got.

Her silent tears transformed rain into snow. And with it, the first day of winter began.

__________________________________________________________

A/N: Had to write this piece four times. The first one was awful. The second was full of shit. And the third one was just... mergh. And the fourth you just read. I don't have the energy to start again. Maybe I'm being too hard on myself but I like to better myself each time. Ever had to compete with yourself before?

Also, I've already made a start on the following heroes/heroines: Achilles, Hyacinth, Cassandra and Medusa(ugh, this one has been rewritten more times than Pandora's tale!) If you have any heroes you'd like me to look into then drop me a message sometime.

–Kaddy