The Golden Apple He Stole From Me

The air froze.

Everyone stared at me in absolute disbelief.

I was a powerless mortal. I had endured so much scorn and mockery to survive on Olympus, saving up every last coin.

Every priest and servant there knew I'd sacrificed half my life for that wealth and my staff of authority.

And now, I was giving it all to a Siren who had done absolutely nothing.

Zale raised his eyebrows. "Kressa, you..." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but settled for a satisfied nod. "It's not like you to be so selfless."

"Very rare," my father strode forward, snatching the scrolls. His smile was wider than I'd seen it in years. "Kressa," he boomed, "You are finally acting as a High Priestess should. You are finally worthy of our family's name."

Open-minded. Proper.

They used these pretty words to justify robbing me blind.

Looking at them, my stomach churned.

My body betrayed me. A wracking cough tore through me, and I spat a mouthful of dark blood and black ash onto the marble floor.

The signature of the Tartarus death curse. My soul burning to ash.

The hall went quiet for a second.

Zale shot to his feet, his staff clattering to the floor.

He was before me in an instant.

His trembling hands reached out to catch my faltering body. "Kressa! What's wrong? Why are you coughing up blood?!"

My mother cried out, dropping the scroll and rushing to my side, her eyes instantly reddening. "Kressa, don't scare me like this! You're a healing priestess, how can you be this hurt...?"

My father said nothing, but his clenched jaw and the sharp hiss of his breath betrayed his terror.

Seeing the genuine panic and pain in their eyes, a bitter wave washed over me.

So, they could still feel worried for me. They could still feel pain for me.

What a pity.

It was far too late.

Just as Zale's fingertips were about to touch me, Melora let out a piercing shriek.

She slumped weakly onto the throne, clutching her chest and gasping for air. "Sister... if you didn't want to give up the temple, you could have just said so. Why force our hands by using a self-inflicted 'Pity Curse' on yourself? Cough, cough... If it pains you so much, sister... then I don't want the temple..."

At Melora's words, the taut thread of concern in the air snapped.

My mother's outstretched hand froze, and the pain in her eyes was instantly replaced by the rage of betrayal.

She recoiled, pulling her hand back in disgust and taking a sharp step away, covering her nose with a silk handkerchief.

"Kressa, stop playing the victim! To make Melora feel guilty, you'd resort to such a vile curse on yourself? We were all praising you for giving Melora the temple, and you have to ruin it by coughing up blood right now?"

"This pathetic, sickly display of yours... it's wretched!"

Zale's outstretched hand also paused in mid-air. The panic in his eyes faded, replaced by a profound weariness and a chilling cold. "Kressa, you disappoint me beyond words. I almost fell for it. When will you stop this?"

He clung to Melora’s explanation—a self-inflicted 'Pity Curse.'

It was a vile thought, but it was far easier to believe than the terrifying alternative that the black ash suggested.

I wiped the black ash from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand.

Then, I looked at their once-again cold and distant faces, my own gaze as still and empty as a stagnant pool.

These were my last relatives in the world.

"Mother. Father." My voice was soft. Probing. "If one day my soul shatters completely... if I turn to stardust and never come back... will you regret it?"

"Stop talking such nonsense!" my mother snapped, her voice shrill. "You're a Healing Priestess, nourished by a Sea God's magic! How could your soul shatter? You just can't stand seeing Melora happy! You're trying to curse her with talk of death!"

"Yeah, Mom!" Philon was suddenly standing next to Melora, pulling on her sleeve. "Dad protects you with so much magic, and you're still playing the victim. Aunt Melora is the sad one! She's a cursed Siren and she hurts all the time. So what if you gave her your stuff!"

Melora leaned weakly against her throne. She patted Philon's head, her eyes flashing with pure victory.

"Be good, Philon. Don't blame your sister. She's just a little bitter, that's all."

Bitter?

I looked at Philon's face, so much like Zale's. I watched him snuggle happily into Melora's arms.

"Philon," I smiled. It was the most relieved smile I'd had in weeks. "Since you love Aunt Melora so much... from now on, you can call her Mom."

Philon’s eyes went wide. "Really? I can call her Mom?" He launched himself at Melora, burying his face in her silks. "Yay! Mom Melora! You’re so much better than my real mom!"

Zale stood there, watching his happy "family of three," a soft smile touching his eyes.

My parents nodded proudly, as if this were the perfect family reunion.

I just looked at them quietly.

Hearing him say "Mom Melora" burned away the last trace of hope in my heart. Ashes to ashes.

They didn't need me. They didn't care about me.

I closed the temple doors and walked away.

One day left. And nowhere to go.

I’d spent my whole life rushing around, completely on edge. I’d never once stopped to actually look at the mortal world.

I bought a ticket for a mortal ferry. I wanted to see the ocean at night, just once, through human eyes.

I wanted to climb the mortal mountains, but my body just couldn't take it anymore.

Right before I blacked out, I crushed a communication crystal I hadn't touched in five years.

Then everything went dark.