Leonidas found himself observing the whole event with quiet dread. It seeped into his bones and settled there, heavy and immovable, like a stone dropped into still water.
He wasn't sure what unsettled him more, the argument, the gods, or the fact that he was standing in the middle of both and somehow was still sane… relatively sane, that is.
Leonidas supposed surviving this long was its own kind of miracle. Or cruelty, maybe, gods were contradictory creatures after all, much like humans themselves.
They were living paradoxes, a walking house of horrors, who had paradise beneath their feet. Love could turn into spite as quickly as spite to love. Peace could bring destruction and horror so long as he wished.
Bloom and Sacrifice, husband and wife, life and hardships, beings who were more human than humans themselves.
