Hera’s First Section

Hera, Hera. Deep in the waters below Babylon you were conceived, while night wraiths circled a dying moon. Fragile as blown glass, opaque as onyx, you lay silently as creatures of the dark abyss cleared you of your excessive shell. And it was I. I Zeus who remade you into the force you are. I welded the machine. Built the reactor that re-fleshed you with an exoskeleton impenetrable. Once the wax fell from your wings, I brought the sun to dry you, the sun that dried up the deep and set you free. Now. Pray.



I did agree to the process. Hesitations I had, but I gave the final go ahead, I set my face in steel and stared back into those big blue-spangled eyes. I wasn’t exactly sure how the process worked, but I said yes because I could. I was free to make my decision, and that’s why I did. To say yes with a whole self to a direction. To risk my being for love and hope. In some ways, I have traveled a road toward spiritual transformation, but I fear the new creation is becoming somewhat out of hand. When I look down, I see the hard forearms shrouded in plastex, still pulsing with the transformative embers. What color will they become? And the wings…

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