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She had everything anyone ever wanted.
Power. Subjects. Home.
Too bad the one thing she was built for was the one thing she could never attain.
***
She was a frequent blesser of the human race, sending down her approval and support with the feathers of peacocks, watching from afar as the children, because they were mere children in the eyes of the Gods, built their cities and grew their families.
She kept one eye on the pulse of humanity. One eye on her husband.
Neither worked.
***
She, Goddess of the Heavens, spun in circles, chasing her husband's deeds across continents as he ripped and took and conquered. She heard through whispers and prayers, learned of exploitations and lies, watched as she remained on the Mount, ever faithful, alone with her thoughts and her mind.
She dared not raise a hand, dared not raise a voice.
She gazed down upon the other Gods, saw them make their own choices, saw them leave, saw their freedom.
And still, she sat, waiting, moment after moment, for her husband to return to her.
***
When she spun into being, when she spilled out into the world only to be swallowed down immediately, she knew. She was a stepping stone of power, a moment's thought, before a shake of the head cleared her.
And yet, when she emerged from the stomach, blinking at the blinding light, she saw her husbandbrotherking, and thought of nothing more than family.
She reached out, cupped his jaw, and smiled, for once, hoping for the best.
***
In her deepest and darkest moments, she felt the cold stone of resentment which was permanently lodged in her. She eyed her children, watched as they fought and laughed, their edges always brushing, their lives always spilling into each other.
She did not understand.
***
Queen of the Gods, people whispered in the streets as she walked, their mocking of her hidden from earshot. Zeus' wife.
She never let on the tiny slivers of cold fury that coursed through her at their identification of her, viewed as nothing more than an extension of her husband.
However, for all her fury, for all her cold scorn, for all her heavy emotions, she knew she did not know how to live. She had never been given the chance to grow into her own, had only been tossed from her father to her brother, had glimpsed family in the tapestry of powers, and let her yearning for warmth and love overtake her.
Instead, she had gained nothing, and lost all potential.
***
What a sad, cold existence for the Queen of Motherhood, of Family, of Women and Childbirth. Cursed by circumstance to never have the foundation she was born to have, to follow her husband and curse those she was meant to protect in her own spite, in her own fear.
***
She wanted children, wanted to fill the aching void Zeus left inside of her. More than that, though, she wanted motherhood.
She wanted to look down at a cooing babe, wanted to feel the emotions humanity seemed to be able to grasp with no issue.
She graced Zeus with four children, two who rose to power within the Parthenon and two who were lesser deities.
She, however, did not grace her children with love.
She watched Ares grow, and felt disgust at him and his actions, doing nothing to curb his growing desire for War, and shunted all blame onto Zeus.
poor Ares, a true child of War, born into a home lacking of love, a home torn neatly down the middle, with spite and fury rising in both parents.
She scorned Eileithyia, angry with the thought of sharing any power with her. How dare her child rise with the powers of midwifery, how dare she steal from the Queen of the Gods.
poor Eileithyia, born into a home cursed with wretchedness and rot, forced to suffer under her mother's heavy hand.
She felt nothing for Hebe, pleased only with her usage of eternal youth. Another means to an end, Hera knew, to be used just as she was.
poor Hebe, born into a home which used and abused, loved by both parents but only for her use, never for herself.
She hated Hephaestus, throwing him from her sight as soon as she could, furious at the sight of another failing of hers. She scorned him, her hatred only ever tempered with the beautiful gifts and jewelry she received from him.
poor Hephaestus, born into nothing, knowing only the sensation of falling and the pain of the landing in his first moments, as his mother threw him from the mount.
***
She did not know, she did not understand.
She would never understand.
Her loneliness etched itself into her, fusing with her bones as she landed in her father's stomach, landing among her siblings and refusing their hands, refusing their help.
She did not realize, but in that moment, she made a choice. Her decisions would continue on into eternity, pulling families apart, cursing children, killing mothers, her heart laden with spite, her hands thick with power, her head heavy with the crown.
***
She could've been more.
She could've been a mother.
Instead, as she came into her own, furious and malicious, her hope for better, her hope for more, rotted her from the inside out.