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This is worse than I thought.
Drowning in my fears, I lash out at the god. “So, you lied to me, ‘Phoebus Apollo.’” Wow, we’re off to a great start. From lying to kidnapping. Wonder what’s next.
Pursing his lips, he stands firm against my sass. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“You didn’t have a choice?” I clarify indignantly while laughing snarkily. Not because it was funny, but because I'm angry. “I didn’t have a choice. Keep in mind who kidnapped who here.”
Just like the other countless women.
“Pandora, our land is suffering from a plague. Nymphs, dryads, and satyrs turning into stone or trees or flowers.” Pushing me close to the circle of torch light hanging from the wall, he pulls down his toga. “We are dying.”
My eyes widened. “What’re you—?”
“—Just look.” Pulling the cloth from his chest, I flinch. Tan skin from his shoulders fades away into marble. With veins of amber. Sprawling from his chest. Watching him, I could see the molten metal crawling up his body.
The gold pulses with each heartbeat. Carrying the amber liquid farther away from his core.
Furrowing my brows, I look up from his chest to his golden eyes. “Are you… Turning to stone?”
“More specifically, marble.” Taking a moment to fix his toga, I'm almost sad to watch his chest disappear. “To cure our land from the plague, the oracles directed me to scour the mortal lands the foretold maiden to break the curse. Had I had a choice, you would not have been forced here.”
Plucking my hand from my side, his lips linger on my knuckles. The gesture is soft. Releasing my breath, I relax into him.
Wide eyes pour volumes of silent words into me.
He’s being genuine.
But even with his sincerity, a question looms in my mind.
“What happened to the mortals that came before me?” Watching him, my eyes are full of concern. Biting my lower lip, I anxiously wait for his reply.
Apollo shifts his weight. A hand snakes up his body. Gripping into his golden locks.
He’s nervous.
This can’t be good.
“Let’s pick up that conversation at another time, you and I have had a long day.” Huffs the god.
Pulling me off to two closed side by side style doors, Apollo waves his hand at the lock. “Please. I need to know.” I ask in a soft voice.
Click.
The lock disengaged and Apollo sighs. “They turn to mud.” The god looks gloomy.
“Mud!” My knees feel wobbly. Like they can’t support my weight.
“Yes. Mortals were sculpted using a mixture of mud and clay before having life breathed into them.”
At his words, my mouth opens and shuts. Gaping like a fish out of water.
The door creaks open. Revealing a dark room. Void of all life. A servant appears and starts lighting the candles and the hearth. “Now before you do anything, drink the liquid in that small cup on your desk.”
Turning, I looked at the thimble sized cup and sent him a questioning look.
“Drink up,” he instructs.
Picking up the liquid, I swirl it from its teeny container. “What is it? I'm not drinking this until I know what it is first.”
