• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 07


She’s done well for herself – escaped
that earthy prison, that skein of passageways
Daedalus designed to keep her father in.
Not that she’d known it at the time –
hadn’t realised what else there was – sky,
these airy rooms, colour, softness, lack of stench.
Scrubs up well, they say as they dress her,
(discreetly tucking in her tail), drape scarves around
her face. She’s still disconcerted – it was too sudden.
One minute playing in the dark, Father rampaging
distantly (not that he’d ever harmed her – loved
the horns on her head in fact) following that thread,
emerging blinded, snorting in strange air.
But she’d stood ground, set her nose at them.
They wondered where she’d come from – she
wondered herself, turned it over, pondered.
But that was then. Now, they recognize her lineage,
royal and immortal, treat her accordingly. Aphrodite
takes an interest – she calls her Aunt these days,
admires her style. It’s not the creature’s fault, they say,
marvel at how ordinary she is, (especially now they’ve
sawn off her horns) how well she’s taken to domesticity,
taken her place among the women, weaving a cloak
to cover her alien self.