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Dark crazy hair flies every which one from his head. His eyes look abnormally large due to the thick round glasses on his face. With a huffing grunt he seems to pause here, catching his breath. He’s visibly frustrated as his eyes seem to suddenly notice me.
Oh Fiddle Styx!
I hold as motionless as I can manage, not daring to breathe, as he leans in close, apparently transfixed by some aspect of my neck. His labored breathing smelling of herbal tea and something vaguely sweet.
My heartbeat pounds so violently that I fear it could give me away. If he watches much longer surely the pulse on my neck will give me away.
“The attention to detail on this bust is exquisite. The painters have outdone themselves. Each time they seem to get better and better.” Looking down at my feet, he appears to be looking for something, “Hmm. This golem girl is too new for a name. Well, my beauty, I'm excited to meet you and I expect a full book report from you at a later time. Perhaps over tea.”
The satyr quirks his eyebrow up suggestively at me.
Is he flirting with a statue?
Satyrs are odd ducks.
He is talking to clay statues like we’re alive and breathing. Not made forms.
Keeping my face still, I force myself to remain emotionless as the old creep takes in my appearance.
“I'm too old for this chase. Time to go back to the circulation desk.” He sighs, “Goodbye, my beautiful dear.”
Gag.
I watch his receding form, breathing quietly and slowly. Sneaking each breath. Trying not to draw attention to myself until I know for certain that he is gone.
As he is storming away, I release a silent sigh of relief.
I didn’t expect this place to be so expansive or well-staffed. Maybe I should’ve come in the middle of night. I could’ve asked Artemis the location of them… or maybe that would have tipped her off.
Uncurling myself, I stand and begin tracing my steps back to the passageway.
Now, I take time to look at each of the statues.
Thalia.
Callista.
Althea
These names are familiar, but where have I… The Pythia! These are the names in the Pythian Priestesses’ records of who’s known to be taken. These must be statues of those taken by Apollo.
The hair rises on the back of my neck. There are so many of them. Far more than the Pythian records claim.
Will I become a statue one day? Left in the basement where my only company is the satyr.
Scanning each statue, I'm determined to memorize their faces. With each face, I flowed deeper and deeper into despair.
Each statue is unique. Painted to match the person inspiring their creation. Most have the typical dark hair and eyes like I saw in my home. Others were varied. But all were positioned the same. On a throne of winding branches, flowers, and ivy.
What does my fate hold for me here?
Perhaps I could escape these walls and search for my dad. All before I turn to mud. But first, I need to find those portraits.
When I figure out the whereabouts of my father, then maybe I could also find his motive as to why he abducted an innocent mortal man. After all, what god would hold a grudge against a mortal man…
Actually, that does not exclude as many gods as I initially thought.
All gods love conflict. Especially when they have the advantage and the magic to fuck up someone’s life. Bullying mortals is probably the best fun that there is.
