And who shall I be then? I will still be ugly, still not like other gods. I presume I will still have this feeling of apprehension, still feeling something is waiting for me. But I will have made some progress. I will have evolved while they wallow in their petty squabbles and pursuit of pleasure. What else shall I become? What limits are there to my improvement? Perhaps I will outgrow my family if I have not already.
It is unfair. Why must I be the one to endure this? Why must I live in pain, alone, ugly, and unloved? Why do others get to enjoy existence? I am so tired, in every sense. So very tired. At last, I feel the pills take effect unless it is my imagination. The pain still seems to be there, but I find I care less. Perhaps I can sleep.
The mortals understand that everything, ultimately, can be understood. Once that is achieved, any issue simply becomes an engineering problem. If they could understand what was wrong with my leg, if they could divine the source of my pain, then they could perhaps treat it. While the mortals are limited in some ways, those limitations force them to think deeply about problems, and their solutions can often be ingenious.
In the meantime, I’d stopped restraining my shadows. They’d been wreaking havoc. Imagine kids loose in a candy store. Now you know what my shadows could do. The news had been riddled with mysterious power outages and car lights having mechanical failure, all of which led to car accidents on the highways. But that was just child’s play.
That night, I went on patrol of the city, buzzing past the other high rises, racing as fast as could. I flew to the top of Olympus Mountain and listened to the sounds of the frogs in the river below. The cool breeze ruffled through my wings as I stood on the mountain top.
Her voice echoed through the expanse. “Oh, I remember everything. That’s what Tartarus does. It was a thousand years for me. A thousand years of nightmares. Of torture. Of Darkness. Reliving my mistakes over and over again until I begged for an end.”