Arene was sitting on a stool by the window that overlooked the beautiful white city of Santorini, she could barely enjoy the mesmerizing view because her mind kept wondering off to the events that occurred at the old temple that afternoon.
She could vividly remember how her beloved son's body, Idas, was exhumed by her men, he had been buried in the unmarked grave for so long thet he was nothing but bone and bits of sticky rotting flesh.
The prayer of the Messenian priest and the crackling of the fire that burnt her son's remains to ash was still filling her ears. Arene ran her gentle finger up and down the gold and black urn that contained Idas' ashes, oh her poor boy, taken away by the selfish gods.
Arene's tears had long dried, her grief and pain replaced by pure anger and resentment. The gods had taken advantage of her for the last time, she'd had more than enough. The woman awoke from her trance when a soft knock at the door echoed through the room.
