basting and anointing, grating
and pasting. Every plant and tree,
even the crystals and rivers, hummed
with untapped power and potential.
I grew more and more lost in my work.
Until one day Thanatos visited
and asked me, ‘Do you not think it is time
that you, too, are given worship
and libations to strengthen
your godhood?’ I frowned at this,
still mixing sleepy mugwort, airy dandelions
and the drowsy waters of Lethe into a paste
that helped craft dreamless sleep.
I had an apothecary full of potions
I had made to become better at my craft.
Witchcraft was work, practised every day.
‘I have no need for those things,’
I scoffed. Thanatos shook his head.
‘All Gods require prayer, Hekate.
It is what makes our immortality
tolerable, as it reinforces our power.’
It was odd how my name from his lips
always made my heart beat quicker.
I tried to ignore this by staring
down at the paste as I responded,
‘And how do you propose I start
acquiring libations and prayers?’
His eyes were more tired today
than I had ever seen them before.
‘Join me at the battlefields of Troy.
