Athena’s Sacred Tree Academy–or simply AST Academy to its students–was not only known for its silver-gray uniforms or the logo depicting a large, white owl with an olive branch on its beak but for its topnotch teaching and picturesque school buildings that the students and staff alike enjoy; popular and well-spoken despite the fact that it was still considered as one of the newest academy’s to be built in the country… it only goes to show just how well its reputation precedes itself.
It was an international academy after all; and the academy welcomes anyone with a love for learning no matter what their race, their religion and socioeconomic status with open arms.
The academy was beautiful and its reputation does not disappoint, of that, Proserpina, goddess of shadows, will not deny as she stood in front of the large clear-glass windows in the President’s office overlooking the school’s towering front gates with her arms crossed as she observed the plethora of students in silver-gray uniforms that were milling about in groups, in pairs or sometimes alone as they come in and out–but mostly out, it’s getting late, after all–the skies overhead was a cotton candy pink and a splash of soft orange, casting the office she was in with growing shadows seemingly to dance about around her thanks to the setting sun… or maybe that was just her patience wearing thin.
 
 
‘What was taking Athena so long?’
Proserpina had been invited here by the goddess of wisdom herself when she happened to slip out to Demeter some of the issues regarding her younger half-brother’s neglected education, no thanks to a certain leech that must not be named.
And while Proserpina was grateful for Athena’s insistence to have William under her school’s care (it was no issue, Athena personally founded the academy, anyway), she was beginning to grow bored of waiting for the older goddess to come back from her stupid meeting with some of the academy’s higher-ups.
Without any other options left, the newly turned immortal goddess turns away from the large window as she starts to scour through the bookshelf right next to her.
The bookshelf was a dark mahogany, the same material as Athena’s work desk and it was literally as tall as her (and she wasn’t even a short woman), filled with serious-looking books of different colors and sizes but still managing to look well-organized so Proserpina took ample care as she allowed her gloved fingers to brush by the books here and there, silently mulling over which one she will read because she fully intended to get lost in a story to pass the time now… because glaring at her baby brother’s future schoolmates might be considered as a sign of hostility by the older goddess.
 
 
And oh, trust me.
 
You wouldn’t want Athena as an enemy.
Each of the books looked like they are all older than her judging by the smell and the worn pages inside, one page even literally crumbled to ashes in her hands, much to her horror, when she browsed through rather impatiently (she immediately stuffed it in the back of the shelf, half-praying to Hades that Athena will not notice the little blunder) but despite the books’ obvious age, they were all still well-preserved; free from dust and seemingly handled with care and love that only a lover of books could provide.
However, whatever admiration Proserpina had for Athena’s personal book collection immediately went up in flames when she discovered that none of the books in Athena’s office even have titles on their spines, let alone in the book cover.
She can only differentiate them through their sizes and colors so she has to diligently flip through each book’s first few pages to find out what the content of the story were even about.
Proserpina goes through each book on the shelf slowly and mechanically, flips through the pages to try and find… at least something that will catch her interest–there was a story about the origin of soul mates, the concept of rebirth, the rise and fall of Elder Gods, Trojan War–only to no avail.
It seems that most of the books Athena has been more on about history, serious matters than what is to be considered anything appropriate for a light reading.
And don’t get her wrong, Proserpina is fond of reading as much as she is of breathing and any other time she might be interested to tackle any of those topics but right now, she was looking for… well, at least something that will amuse her because she might end up setting the room on hellfire just for the heck because that is how she is so bored out of her mind right now.
So Proserpina moves on to the next row, then the next one, and the next one, on and on until she was literally kneeling like a child on the floor when she finally comes across a book third to the last on the bottom row in between a skinny book and leather bound one; the book was silver-gray, small and light in her hands and the cover seemed to have some sort of glossy material in it as it twinkled when she turned it here and there…
‘Kind of a child’s storybook,’ she noted.
The book was almost as big as her palm and seemed to have pages as what one would expect from a novelette.
She carefully opens it up to the first page–not wanting to have a repeat of another destroyed book because a destroyed book was a crime against humanity, truly heartbreaking–and almost instantly, her eyes gleamed in intrigue at what she sees.
 
A Grim Fairytale: The Story of Corruption.
 
 
Finally, Proserpina thought, sitting down in Athena’s swivel chair, the small book in hand, something interesting.
How curious though, she mused to herself as she moves on to the second page–that there was no author’s name unlike the others, not even the usual Anonymous penname that most of Athena’s books had but there was a preface with a dried blue flower still tucked inside, clearly preserved with care (is that an anemone? She wasn’t sure and she didn’t want to touch it)… oh wait, that was wrong.
This was a dedication.
It goes like this:
‘To my beloved,
Lifetimes may have passed but here, this story remains. It may be left unread, unspoken and unheard of for a very long time… and though kingdoms may rise and fall anew, here it shall stay, and in here, we shall live again in the minds and hearts of those who had never witness a tale that should have never been in the first place.
Here, I write to you, to my love that shall never be again. Here, I write to you, so you will live again, if in nothing else but memories of mine and others.
…before I forget.
Then maybe, maybe I shall be forgiven.’
 
 
The next words are smudged, incomprehensible.
“Wait a minute,” Proserpina glanced at the other books then at the one in her hands, suddenly feeling an odd chill running down her spine, “Thanatos… is this story for real?”
The god of death was curiously silent for a few painstaking moments and when Proserpina was about to give up, thinking that he was not going to answer, his voice came out as a sigh… like a mournful whisper.
‘…Most stories are,’
Proserpina stares at the word ‘beloved’.
The ink looked like it had been smeared.
Like a teardrop has fallen and stained the page.
“Whoever this was, this… beloved,” the young goddess finally deigns to say, when she was certain that her voice will come out steady, gloved fingers gently brushing over the faded word, knowing the words to be the truth before they even passed her lips, “…they certainly must be gone a long time ago.”
* * * * *
 
 
 
‘To my beloved,
Lifetimes may have passed but here, this story remains. It may be left unread, unspoken and unheard of for a very long time… and though kingdoms may rise and fall anew, here it shall stay, and in here, we shall live again in the minds and hearts of those who had never witness a tale that should have never been in the first place.
Here, I write to you, to my love that shall never be again. Here, I write to you, so you will live again, if in nothing else but memories of mine and others.
…before I forget.
Then maybe, maybe I shall be forgiven.’
This story of yours and mine, I pray to be rewritten.
The story that begins here.