The seer Tiresias proclaimed me
the flame-haired Creonide,
Pyrrha of Thebes,
whose feet shall follow
in the footsteps of Ino.
But when will my feet
land on that path?
When will my journey
begin?
Is this why Hermes has come?
I can't breathe.
The god has stolen my breath.
At my thought,
Hermes shrugs,
a fluid gesture,
to match his flowing steps.
"Prophecy is fickle.
The words of a seer
obscure
as much as they reveal.
Tell me,
Young Pyrrha,
have you considered,
that Ino's footsteps
may lead only
to some Minyan cliffside edge?"
A chill descends my spine.
My pace grows heavy,
as if my feet
are made of lead.
I struggle
to keep up
with the god.
"But I'm not one to say."
Hermes waves
his snake-wrapped staff.
"My brother is the expert
in visions and signs
while I just flit about
on other chores."
My feet
skip
over a rough patch of road.
My lip
rolls
between my teeth.
A tang of coppery blood
hits
my tongue.
I fight
to keep control
of the madness.
of my curse.
"As you say, Lord Hermes."