Fireside

Hera

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Hera

It was another ordinary day atop the pillars of Mount Olympus. The sun was shining, as per usual. Birds were chirping in the air, sharing their melodious chorus with gods and mortals alike. Hestia, the eldest of the most venerated immortal siblings, stood at the edge of the hearth pit, devotedly tending the warm fire. And somewhere behind the goddess, her younger sister was yet again ranting and raving about her husband.

Yes, it was simply another ordinary day.

"I swear, if I get my hands on him, on either of them, I will wring their necks until their heads snap off of their bodies." Hera turned sharply, her robes fluttering against the wind with the swiftness of her movement. She looked ever regal, especially with her crown glinting atop her head and her scepter reflecting the morning's rays. It was her irate countenance that soured her spectacular facade. "Are you sure that husband of mine isn't hiding somewhere in this room?"

The calmer goddess sighed, adding more kindling to the fire so that its flames could leap higher. "Aside from underneath the table, do you see anywhere else he'd be able to hide at?"

Hera took in the white-walled gazebo-like structure that was her sister's home. It was one large octagonal room, with wide arching windows at each wall, except for one that flaunted elaborately carved double doors gilt with gold leaf. Its roof was a golden dome, with a fume hole which let smoke from Hestia's fire escaped.

The warm hearth was at the very center of the abode, flanked by a wide, pillow-laden kline to the east and a low table surrounded by fluffy cushions to the west. Various fruits and dishes were laid out on the table, and in the middle of it all was a crystal bowl filled to the brim with sparkling ambrosia. The north wall and its corresponding window were barely visible behind the mound of offerings that Hestia had gotten for the day.

"No..." Hera sighed, seeing that aside from the table and pile of gifts, the latter of which she had already meticulously gone through, there was no other place that could conceal a god. "Oh Hestia, what do I do? Why does he keep doing this to me?"

"That's funny. I seem to recall you once insisting that you were fine with the arrangement." Hestia voiced, still keeping her attention on the fire. "To quote, your words were 'I don't care if he beds every other woman in Olympus and out, so long as I become and remain queen of the heavens'."

Hestia didn't need to look at her younger sister to know that her ire had yet again been stirred. It was no secret among the immortals that Hera was as possessive about her title as about her husband. Nobody challenged the Olympian queen—ever. Except for Hestia, of course. Only she could argue with the goddess and come out of the verbal altercation unscathed.

"I was just saying that because he tricked me!" Hera stomped towards her composed sibling, her fist clenched tightly around the scepter in annoyance. "He made me think he was a bird! How would you like it if you let an injured bird sleep on your pillow, in your bed, and the next day wake up to find a man kissing you senseless? How else was I supposed to save face?!"

The goddess of hearth and home paused briefly before resuming her fire-tending task.

"You saved face, but in the process drove him into the arms of other women without first thinking that maybe—just maybe—he would have remained faithful to you." Hestia said in a tight manner, disappointed by her sibling's childish antic. "Are you proud of yourself?"