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Have you seen the goddess from the seafoam, they whisper, she is more beautiful than anything.
Allison is born from the ocean, but she is not its daughter. She is no one’s and everyone’s daughter, as beautiful and untouchable as the nymphs that take her in, raise her on the beach she was washed ashore and found on. They are the three Graces. They are Aglaia, Thalia, and Euphrosyne; they are Elegance, Youth, and Beauty.
They are good to Allison. They sit her on the shore under the palms where they can dip their toes in the warm water and brush her hair while they fill her head with fantasies. They make love sound like a ruse. (But if she is the goddess of it, does that make her the ruse?)
Euphrosyne paints her nails bright pink and tells her stories of the mortal men who will go to battle over her beauty, how she will start wars, end wars, levels cities with a single glance.
Agalia trains Allison in a thousand ways to kill a man, or break his heart, or both. She makes every inch of her a weapon.
Thalia points out all the youthful lovers and Allison daydreams ways to ruin their lives. She sends men and women alike after those who will never love them back, uses her power to create life, end life, and perhaps she is more the goddess of destruction and infatuation than she is love and beauty.
They give her a head full of hot air and she attaches it to her neck.
Allison is beautiful, but nothing she touches is.
She is reading on the beach when they come for her.
Allison waves a lazy hand and a rose-scented breeze turns the page of her book.
“Goddess!” She turns her head. Euphrosyne makes their way towards Allison. “Goddess, Olympus has sent a message for you,” they say and Allison has never never heard the reserved Euphrosyne sound so elated. Allison sets her book aside and stands, brushing non-existent sand from her dress. She nods and Euphrosyne sets off, Allison close on their heels.
They reach the centre of the island and Allison grinds to a halt at the sight of the god standing before her.
Allison has grown up on stories of Olympus and the gods who rule from it. The Graces have woven her countless tales of how she too will one day be whisked away to join them in the throne room. In a way, she has been preparing for this day since she sprung from the seafoam.
The god smiles when he sees her and holds out a hand. Tiny crackles of electricity run up and down his arms. He is large, towering over Allison and heavily tattooed with patterns of lightning bolts and mountains and scenes that depict battles fought a millennia before she was born. Despite his intimidating appearance, his eyes shine when he smiles at her.
“I am Wymack,” the king of the gods says.
Tentatively, Allison reaches out and shakes his hand. The air smells like ozone.
“I’d like it if you came with me.”
***
On Olympus she is given a throne. She has it painted pink and inlaid with the finest diamonds. She can hear the Graces whisper their approval in her ear.
On earth, the mortals build temples in her name.
Allison is a spiteful goddess, has a temper her worshippers grow to fear. Like Euphrosyne used to describe in their tales, Allison starts wars more horrific and bloody than the other gods have seen in centuries. It’s not that she wants to, it’s just that on Olympus Allison is too easily bored, and causing strife is always entertaining to those untouchable by it.
The Graces visit Allison and brush her hair while she lounges on her throne. Agalia admires the diamonds as they sparkle in the torchlight and Allison feels a spark of pride. All she wants, really, is to make her nymphs happy. It’s the least she can do after all they’ve taught her. You could be the most powerful of all the gods, Thalia whispers to her before they leave and points out a young mortal couple in their palace.
With a flick of Allison’s finger Helen of Sparta falls in love with Paris, becomes Helen of Troy. It has always been too easy. She laughs as the gods pick sides in the war that follows.
The Graces visit her and congratulate her on the carnage they always knew she would create.
***
Later, much later, after the smoke has cleared and the Greek soldiers have left the city, Allison stands in the rubble of what used to be Troy. Surrounded by the bodies of the fallen, soldiers and citizens alike, it is not the victory she pictured it would be. She has proven she can fracture even Olympus. In every way, she has proven her power. She wasn’t expecting to feel so empty.
Wearily, she sinks to her knees and rests her head against a broken pillar. The only noise comes from the few fires that still burn in some of the buildings. She blinks and the last of them go out. After that, the city is deathly silent.
Allison wakes to the smell of blood and Seth leaning over her.
“I’ve been looking for you for weeks,” he says gruffly. “C’mon.” Slowly, she gets to her feet and brushes soot and dirt from her dress. The air around them is grey.
“Where are we going?” she asks. Seth shrugs. “Where ever you want.”
The goddess of love and the god of war have always gotten along. It doesn’t hurt that they are both beautiful, each in their own horrible way. Together they make a good pair.
Together, they are ruination.
Seth and Allison do not, it turns out, always see eye to eye. When they fight, their voices reach earth and the ground shakes. They clash and make-up and clash again and again and again. They drive the other Olympians mad.
“Not everything can be solved with swords Seth,” Allison snaps and Aaron groans.
The sun god turns to Wymack. “I don’t see why I have to be here if they’re just going to argue the entire time.”
“We’re not arguing,” Allison says.
“Really,” Aaron raises his eyebrows. “Then what do you call—“
“I will shove your stupid chariot so far up your—“
“Allison,” Renee says quietly. Allison closes her mouth and crosses her arms.
Across the throne room, Renee gives her a look. Wymack and Dan steer the conversation back on track and Allison zones out. Instead of listening, she props her chin in her hand and watches Renee. She’s changed her hair again, she notices. The ends are freshly dyed and newly red, purple, and blue. It looks good. Allison decides she likes it better than the green she had before.
***
Allison doesn’t know what love is.
She has heard stories about it. What it’s supposed to be like.
Love, she’s heard, is a warm feeling. She’s listened to a thousand mortal poets describe it. It doesn’t sound like her. It doesn’t sound like what she does, what she creates.
What she creates sounds more like infatuation. What she does is cause grief.
Allison is sharp and angry. She isn’t comforting. She is destructive and Seth is destruction, so she tells herself they deserve each other. And maybe they do. But the constant fighting is draining and when Allison closes her eyes all she sees are dead men and the lives she’s destroyed. Her power used to smell like roses. It smells more like iron and rotting things these days.
What she wants, she realizes, more than anything, is a little peace.
She tells herself that’s why she goes in search of Renee.
Renee is not in the throne room. Her throne of flowers has withered and when Allison looks down from Olympus at earth she sees snow covering the ground. Allison cannot feel cold, but she shivers anyway. Renee is always so quiet and sweet—it’s hard to imagine her in a realm like the Underworld. She hesitates for a moment, debating whether or not she really wants to go down there to see Renee, but then Allison hears Seth coming, can feel his anger radiating off him in waves, and she’s desperate.
The land of the dead is darker than Allison was expecting.
She was expecting it to be dark, obviously, but she wasn’t expecting it to be so suffocating. She hears a shriek and her head jerks up. Circling above her are the Furies, Erinyes, grotesque winged spirits of vengeance. Allison starts to shrink back, apologize for intruding on a realm so far out of her sphere of control until she remembers who she is. She juts out her chin. Allison has never apologized for anything. “Let me pass,” she says. Her voice sounds muted, smothered by the gloom. The Furies hear her anyway. They regard her for a moment and she feels afraid for the first time in her life, a cool feeling starting in her stomach and spreading up into her chest. She struggles to swallow and the darkness really is suffocating, it’s suffocating her, and this was a mistake and she shouldn’t have come and— as one, the Furies’ begin to fade away until all that is left is their glowing orange eyes, but then those fade too and they are gone.
Allison gasps and takes a shaky breath.
“Fuck you, Andrew,” she says and the ground rumbles in response as her surroundings grow lighter. A palace becomes visible in the distance. She steels her nerves and starts towards it.
***
Allison’s feet are sore by the time she reaches the garden and it reminds her too much of the island and the Graces. She leans against a purple tree and slips her sandals off. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes. Resting for just a few moments won’t hurt anyone. She is sweaty and tired and some fucking spirit managed to rip her dress while she was passing through the fields of Asphodel.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Allison eye’s snap open. A young man, definitely mortal but with a faint golden glow surrounding him, stands to her left. He’s scarred to all hell and Allison feels like she’s the one who should be asking that question. Behind him stands a goddess, tall and dark. Their eyes meet and the goddess’ face goes slack with shock. She taps the mortal’s shoulder, signs something with quick hands. His eyebrows rise minutely. “Let me rephrase,” he says. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Allison sighs. “I’m looking for Renee. What are you doing here?”
“I’m Neil,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean anything to her. The goddess, who Allison now recognizes is Thea, smirks. “They’re in the great hall,” she says. Allison nods and brushes past them, shooting one last look over her shoulder as she climbs the steps to the palace. She catches Neil watching her and winks at him. He frowns and she does too. Most, especially humans, don’t react like that towards her. It's almost refreshing.
Allison makes it through the large obsidian doors before she notices she is still barefoot, her sandals abandoned in the garden. She shrugs. They were never very comfortable anyway.
Inside the palace, the silence of Andrew’s halls bring back memories of Troy. It is unsettling and for a moment Allison thinks she can smell the soot and death of the city from so long ago.
But, unlike Troy, this silence is calm. The souls of the dead she passes are not suffering (Fields of Punishment excluded, but they cannot be heard from here).
It is peaceful. Perhaps coming to the Underworld was a good idea after all. Perhaps this is what she was looking for.
She is stopped outside the great hall by Minos, one of Andrew’s judges. He is grey and ghostly, like everything else, but his robes shimmer with flecks of silver when he moves. His eyes are sad as he regards her. He signs something and at her confusion, the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. Nothing will hurt you here, goddess. His mouth remains shut when he speaks, his voice echoing in her mind. You will find what you seek. And then, because apparently everyone in the Underworld likes dramatic exits, he fades away and the doors to the great hall swing open.
In the middle of the hall, atop the dais, Andrew and Renee sit at their thrones. Their heads are close together and their hands move quickly while they talk. Allison wonders if maybe she should have learnt how to sign before visiting. She also wonders, as she watches them together, if maybe the rumours are true. If nothing else comes of this venture, she hopes to at least be able to close a couple bets surrounding the pair on Olympus. The pool is getting quite large.
As far as she’s aware, she makes no sign to let them know she’s there, but Andrew senses her presence anyway. He lifts his head and Renee turns. She sees Allison and immediately lights up. Allison suddenly feels warm all over. She clears her throat. Andrew still hasn’t spoken and she feels the need to explain herself, though she supposes he probably already knows why she’s come. “I was looking for Renee,” she says.
Renee smiles and slips off her throne. She moves to stand before Allison. “I know,” the goddess of spring says softly. She tilts her head. “Walk with me.” Allison looks to Andrew quickly, but he has already gone.
“Okay,” she replies.
***
Back out in the garden, they move slowly, stopping every few feet so Renee can check on her plants. “Neil and I look after them together,” she says. “He’s new to gardening but he’s done a lovely job watching over them while I was gone.”
“Who is he?”
Renee smiles at Allison from where she’s crouched next to a shockingly sapphire fern. “He was a hero who decided to stay with us. He’s been doing well here. I think Andrew will give him an official position sometime soon.” She dusts off her hands and leaves the fern, walking deeper into the garden. “But you didn’t come here to talk about Neil.”
“I came to talk to you,” Allison confirms.
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to ask why?”
“I expect you’ll tell me anyway.” Allison shoots a look at Renee but relaxes when she sees how her eyes are twinkling. She’s filled with the warm feeling again, from head to toe, and she’s surprised to find she’s blushing. Allison isn’t embarrassed, because Allison is a powerful goddess who is never embarrassed by anything, but she looks away anyway.
“I needed a break, I guess,” she says finally, and Renee nods.
“How are things with Seth?” she asks and Allison is annoyed because that is the exact opposite of what she wants to think about right now and she came to get away from him but he’s still managed to follow her here.
There are two things that always seem to follow Allison: pain, and Seth.
She thinks that maybe she doesn’t want either to follow her anymore.
She thinks that maybe she wants to try being the kind of soft goddess of love the poets talk about. She thinks maybe she wants to take that warm feeling she gets when Renee looks at her and spread it among the mortals she sends after each other. She thinks maybe she wants to smell like roses again.
They sit under the trees while Renee plays with Allison’s hair and sings to her.
She isn’t particularly good, but she doesn’t have to be. With her head in the other goddess’s lap, Allison realizes she has never felt this content before. Renee laughs quietly. “You should ask Neil to sing for you. You could try to get him to play his lyre.”
Allison shakes her head. “I don’t need him to. You’re perfect. This,” she says, “is perfect.”
Renee brushes a cool hand across Allison’s forehead. For a while they stay like that, just looking, drinking in the sight of the other. Time passes. They sit there, for minutes, or maybe it’s hours, or maybe it’s days, and then Allison talks.
She tells Renee about the three Graces.
“Did you know,” she says, “that they’re also called the three Charities? Maybe that’s all I was. A charity. They felt bad for me.” Renee frowns and a crease appears between her eyebrows. Allison reaches up and smooths it away. “I don’t care why they did it anymore. I used to feel like I owed them something. Like I was in debt to them because they raised me, taught me everything I know.” Allison pauses and notices a freckle under Renee’s left eye. She moves her hand to touch it, fingers light on her soft skin. She drops her hand with a sigh and Renee catches it, squeezing gently.
“The things they taught me weren’t good though,” she continues. “I don’t want to start wars anymore. I’m tired of all the pain and heartache. I’ve seen so many horrible things. Done ,” she corrects, “so many horrible things. Seth and I weren’t good either. I want to try being good.”
“Kindness isn’t a sign of weakness,” Renee says. “You can be soft and still be strong. The two don’t cancel each other out.”
Allison nods. And then, because she is impulsive and Renee is warm, Allison sits up and kisses her.
She can feel Renee smiling against her mouth.
When they break apart, they are surrounded by roses.
Spring and love go better together than love and war ever did.
Allison finds Andrew in the great hall again, but this time Neil is with him. They are leaning against each other and as she watches, at Andrew’s nod, Neil kisses him, grinning.
Oh.
Allison smiles.
“I’ll let him know you left,” a voice says.
She turns and sees Thea.
“Thanks.”
Thea nods. “Just tell Kevin to get his ass down here soon for me, yeah? The fucker hasn’t visited in a while.”
“Of course.”
Thea waves a hand over Allison and everything melts to black.
***
On Olympus, Allison goes directly to the throne room.
She pulls the diamonds from her elaborate chair and gifts them to the soon-to-be-wed mortals and the women without homes. She takes red, blood red, paint and splashes it across the throne until it is dripping and gory. She splashes blue on it next, until it is red and purple and blue and there is no pink left and the colours remind her of the hair of a goddess who spends six months a year in the land of the dead.
She ignores the Graces' protests in her ear. She is satisfied.
Sprung from seafoam, Allison is no-one and everyone’s child, but Wymack envelops her in a hug and calls her daughter sometimes, looks at her like she is one of their own. Abby sits with her and braids her hair, tells her stories of all the mortal men whose lives she has changed for the better. Renee sits with them in the summer and holds her hand. Allison likes this better than tragedies she used to hear on a lonely island.