This is not the first time she has been struck by the power of Zeus. And yet, past experience does nothing to prepare her for the way that the lightning sparks and crawls across her, arcs from the bolt lodged in her back to the sword and back again, steals the breath out of her chest, spins around every impurity in her stone and lights trails of fire down every brass inlay. Her fingers, unbidden, scrabble against the grass, finding no purchase.

And through it all, she makes no sound. Makes no complaint, nothing that could be taken as an objection. Zeus and Athena judge her wanting, as is their right, and she will not countermand them. But as she locks eyes with Hera, and lifts a trembling arm, is it selfish to hope for mercy? Let her demand what she will, and Alexa will fulfill it. Just let it stop.