Death had always seemed like the worst possible ending. After all, what fate could be worse?

Antheia was a goddess. She was an immortal and would live forever. As Zeus had often reminded her, it didn't matter what the Moirai had said, no mortal blade could wound her and no disease could fell her.

She had nothing to fear.

It had been too easy to believe him.

Now, Antheia knew better.

While there wasn't much that could cause lasting physical injury to a goddess, there were worse hurts fate could deal. Emptiness. Loneliness. Guilt.

Zeus, you were wrong. The recrimination repeated over and over in her thoughts - as it had year after year as she remained locked in the prison of her own mind.

Yes, there were worse fates for the divine than death. She should know - she was living it. She had been living it for over a millennium - perhaps more than two. Time had lost any meaning after the first hundred years.

Alone amongst the ruins of her temple, the forest had grown up around her. Trees and flowers had formed in the pool of her tears, growing tall until even the warmth of the sun no longer reached her.

Wind rustled through the leaves overhead, their thick canopies blocking out the light even in the late autumn when trees were normally bare. The sound filled her with both despair and hope. She was lost. Hidden away from the very humans she needed. And yet, there was always hope. Hope that things would change.

It was the hope that hurt the most.

Awareness came and went in ebbs and flows. At times, all Antheia could hear was the sound of her own guilt clamouring to be heard. It was all her fault. The terror. The blood. The waste of so much beautiful life. She could still smell their deaths. The metallic tang of mortal lifeblood, the smell of fire and burning flesh, and the inescapable smell of urine. At times, the memory was so vivid, the air so thick with those scents once more, it brought back the choking sensation of fear. It was a leaden weight sitting upon her frozen form. A weight she could not escape.

At other times, when people wandered close to her home, she could hear them. The mortals. They were so close that she could hear snippets of their conversation as they passed by. Their words were so clear that Antheia could imagine herself part of the conversation. For months, those soft spoken snippets played over and over in her mind as she remained trapped - unable to break free from the hollow existence she had been condemned to.

What she wouldn't give to walk amongst them once more.

What she wouldn't give for this in between to finally come to an end.

After centuries, Antheia longed for an end to the ceaseless existence. She was neither part of the living and yet she was far from dead. At least in death, she would be spared the hollow aching loneliness that stretched for centuries in either direction.

Zeus, if you're still out there. Help me.

Please, father.

Antheia shouted the words over and over in her head. She begged for help from the strongest person she knew.

Perhaps he was stuck too? Perhaps the mortals had forgotten about him too.

And yet, it seemed impossible. Zeus was the almighty. There was no way he could be forgotten. Zeus was a god people wrote songs about. He was a god who had threaded himself through the lives of mortals so thoroughly, there was no way he could vanish from memory. He was too powerful to be relegated to a barren existence.

With that certainty in her mind, Antheia allowed her mind to drift to the happier times. The days when her priestess would help her prepare great festivals for her devoted. The days when she would weave great floral wreaths for the young maidens for their bonding days and would create daisy chains with the village children. And, though she knew it was fruitless, she prayed that those days would come again.

** ** **

Days, weeks, and months continued to pass by in a blur of shadow and darkness. The sun tracked its path overhead day after day, only the slight change in temperature marking the time.

Antheia was almost numb to it now.

Yet something was different. Something had changed. It was tugging her from the endless loop of memories playing within her head. Though the memories fought back, desperate to keep her within their hold.

She almost relented. Almost.

A frisson of energy moved beneath her skin. If she could shiver, she would have. Potential. It was a sensation she hadn't bathed in for the longest time.

It was a sensation she hadn't felt since - before.

She shied away from the memory begging to be seen. The face of her priestess staring up at her, drained of life and frozen in a mask of horror. The rich red blood matted the remnants of her dark hair where it had been hacked away from her head. There were bald spots where her hair had been removed right down to the scalp. Antheia could still feel her blood on her hands. No amount of scrubbing would even take that away.

Her soul shivered. It wasn't just their deaths that weighed upon her - it was the brutality of their ending that she had been unable to stop. They hadn't deserved it. None of them had. She only hoped Hades had granted them the eternal rest they deserved.

A loud crack broke through the muddle of horrific memories.

Antheia's mind stilled. She couldn't even pinpoint why the sound had dragged her from the fog of her past. It wasn't an unusual sound in her forest. Things often cracked and groaned as nature moved around her. Why was this sound so important?

Yet, there it was again. Another crack but closer this time.

As she strained her ears, she could hear it then. It wasn't just the usual sounds of the forest. There were people crashing through the underbrush. Children.

It had been centuries since she had heard the voice of young mortals. Her heart lurched within her frozen chest. Were they alone?

From the conversations she had eavesdropped on over centuries, she knew that they were far from the nearest settlement.

There was a yelp. Instinctively, Antheia stretched out with a tendril of magic, cushioned the small mortal with soft vines before she could hurt herself on the hard ground. Though her gift still permeated through the forest, helping the trees and plants to flourish, like an unused muscle her strength had waned over time. Therefore, even as she gently lowered the small child to the forest floor, her magic trembled from the strain. In her mind's eye, Antheia caught a flash of dark hair and eyes of the brightest blue. But then, in protest, her magic snapped back.

If she was not trapped in the same position she had been in for two thousand years, as if her corporeal form had been carved from stone, her head would surely have snapped backwards form the force of the recoil.

With her ears ringing, Antheia waited for the sensation to abate.

"I want to go back." A small voice murmured.

No. Please don't go. Antheia begged the children in her mind - afraid to be alone once more. Please don't leave me just yet.

As if they heard her pleas, there were some muttered arguments but eventually they continued walking.

The footsteps moved closer and closer. Their arguments turning to giggles and happy squeals quickly in a way that only tiny humans could manage. Eventually, they broke through the tree line and into her domain. Their voices, which had continued a steady stream of chatter as they played amongst the trees, hushed instantly.

Antheia strained her ears as the four children stepped further into the clearing.

Their eyes were wide as they approached the statue.

The stone woman sat at the top of a small set of steps. Pillars of white stone crumbled around her, the roof long since gone and swallowed by nature. Her head was bowed and her face was buried in the palm of her hands as if she had been weeping for all time. For a moment, they imagined that her hair was moving in the breeze. She almost looked real.

One of the young girls wiped her hands on her dirt streaked dungarees as she approached. The boy at her side grasped her arm as if to hold her back. She scowled and brushed him off. Then, she carefully tiptoed up the steps, taking care to avoid the vines which wrapped around the feet of the statue.

When her shoes stopped beside Antheia's side, the little girl tilted her head to the side. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder as she stretched out a hand, hovering an inch from the hand of the statue.

"Wait." The small boy called, rushing forwards. He halted at the base of the steps.

The young girl sighed and glanced back at her friends. "It's just a statue."

The touch, when it came, was soft. Gentle. Warm. Antheia couldn't remember the last time she had experienced such a thing.

Antheia wished desperately that she could pull her hands from her face, that she could look upon the small being whose hands were tracing each of her fingers with care.

"See," The small girl hand moved up and poked Antheia's cheek. "It's just a statue."

The boy breathed out in relief when, after a long moment, nothing happened. Then they were all climbing the steps.

"She looks so sad." A small voice whispered, so close their warm breath brushed over the back of Antheia's hands.

"She has pretty hair." Another commented, fingers touching the back of her head.

"She looks like a princess."

"Does not."

"Does too. She has a crown."

"Those are flowers, dummy."

"Stop being mean or I'm telling. "

There was a huff but, after a moment, the children took a seat beside Antheia. They sat there for several minutes, completely at ease. They picked daisies and buttercups, sprinkling them over the weeping woman.

They would never know how much their presence helped. Their happy voices soothed the aching void in Antheia's chest. She had missed this. She had missed being a part of mortal lives even if she could never truly be a part of them. She had been alone for too long.

"KIDS." A loud deep voice bellowed through the trees. The voice taut with frustration and fear. "ELLA."

Though she longed for them to stay, to keep her company in her seclusion, Antheia urged the children to return home. She urged them back to the safety of their family.

The children glanced at one another.

"Your daddy sounds mad."

There was a sniff in response. Antheia could almost picture the petulant pout upon the the small face.

"KIDS."

Antheia sighed when the children made no attempt to move. While she was no Persephone, Antheia still had a few tricks up her sleeve. She focused as hard as she could. She heard the creak and the groan as her trees, the ones bathed in the tears of the divine, responded to her demands.

"Wow," the children gasped as the trees parted before them. A pathway formed right through the forest towards the voice calling them home, the canopy opening overhead to bathe their path in light.

Go. Antheia urged even as she longed for them to stay.

"We should go home."

There was a pause. Almost as if the children were having a standoff. But, finally, the young girl relented. "Fine."

Footsteps started to lead away but one pair of feet lingered. They shuffled to her side. Small hands stroked over Antheia's frozen hair once more before something was dropped into her lap.

The child pressed a kiss against Antheia's cheek before she murmured, "Goodbye, princess."

And then she was gone, her steps hurrying to catch up with her friends.

If she had looked back, even for a moment, the young girl would have seen something miraculous happen.

As it was, only the trees were there to witness as, for the first time in two millenniums, Antheia breathed.