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[b][center][color=8157b6]HERA[/color][/center][/b]
[/h1][/sup][/color][indent][sub][COLOR=8157b6][I]SEATTLE UNIVERSITY[/I][/COLOR][/sub][/indent][indent][sup][right][COLOR=8157b6][b]righteously pissed off, spiraling fast[/b][/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr]

[color=91A6B4][b]“Hephaestus is dead and I don’t know who killed him.”[/b][/color]

The Morrigan’s words were met with a stunned silence, a silence that was broken by an unearthly wail, a cry of unholy pain. Hera’s mouth gaped and she clutched her chest, gasping for air as the sentence echoed through her mind.

She heard the words, but couldn’t comprehend them. Her baby? Dead? The boy who’d risen to all her challenges, the boy who’d proved her wrong? He had survived a fall from Mount Olympus, he’d survived the Colossus, how could this be true? And what about her? What would she do? What was a mother who couldn’t protect her children?

She could feel their eyes on her, watching her every move, taunting her. One of them did this, but the others relished in her pain. Their laughs were silent but they still rang out clear in her ears, spurring her towards anger. She would not be laughed at while her son lay dead, she would not let some cowardly murderer embarrass her.

[color=8157b6][b]“Which one of you?! Which one of you did this?!”[/b][/color] Hera stood up, knocking her chair back as she did. In mere seconds she had become a raging storm, thundering with an anger that only a mother knows. Her eyes landed on Apollo, and accusations began to fly. [color=8157b6][b]“Was it you? You and that bitch sister? Do you think I don’t remember Niobe?”[/b][/color]

Apollo stood, silent, a mask of shock on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Hercules, hiding behind the Egyptian whores. Her fury shifted targets. She pointed at him, and continued her verbal onslaught. [color=8157b6][b]“Or you? Did [i]you[/i] help him? I know you’re not smart enough to do it on your own!”[/b][/color]

Hera was certain that nothing would quench the fire that had begun to consume her. Her child was dead, a child she’d born herself. She’d failed him. She’d failed him all his life, and now, she’d failed him for a final time. These flames were the price she’d pay.

[color=8157b6][b]“You’re awfully quiet husband,”[/b][/color] Hera said, spinning on her heel to look at Zeus, still stinking of Poseidon’s vomit. The poise that she’d exhibited upon her entrance had fully gone. She was unhinged, jetting from target to target, running down a long list of potential foes. Each time a prime suspect entered her thoughts, another jumped to take his place. [color=8157b6][b]“Maybe you put them up to it? They’ve always been your favorite sons, haven’t they? My son is dead, one of your [i]own[/i] is dead and you’re sitting there wiping vomit off your shoes. Stand up, mighty king, and explain your cowardice to the audience,”[/b][/color] she spat her words, disdain dripping from every syllable. Grief weaved a nonsensical web of conspiracy in her mind, contorting every face into a jeering mask. If Zeus wanted to take her up on her offer, Hera’s moment of insanity prevented him.

[color=8157b6][b]“Stand up and claim your crime, murderer. I promise, I’ll treat you with the mercy you showed my son.”[/b][/color]