“ How do you think those others came to exist ?” Priapus sneered . “ And to what end ?” I shrugged . “ Ask their maker .” “ Prometheus ? Ha ! He screams like a babe , and the people call him rebel !” “ Don ’ t —” I mastered my temper . “ Don ’ t underestimate him .” “ Don ’ t let ’ s .” Zeus appeared , goblet in hand . Priapus waddled away and the great god , his breath charmed with wine , leaned over me . “ What have you seen , Hestia ?” Everything . “ Enough .” His lips twitched . “ You ’ re disgusted ,” he said , gesturing the blooded gods . It wasn ’ t that blood I hated on them . I shrugged . “ I know who you are .” A hand snaked his chest — a nymph , begging a dance . He obliged happily and in the space he le I crossed gazes with Dionysus , brooding . I should have known . The god of revelry , sober .
We descended Olympus and danced ourselves heavy in the fields of Elysium . Warm with wine , I slept in the rippling grass and dreamed of the sea . Did he remember me , in his coral bed ? The bray of a donkey shook me awake , and I opened my eyes to the swinging phallus .
Priapus grinned and grabbed me . I screamed . The scoundrel fled . The gods laughed and hurled sticks from their lounging spots . I flew back to Olympus , hating them all . I wasn ’ t alone . Dionysus sat in my chair . Not the throne , but the hearth stool . He looked dangerous .