There is a war blazing.

Swords clashing.

Blood spilling.

Heroes falling.

Screams and cries fill the air with anguish, tragedy, and anger.

There is also rejoice and triumph. Praise. Worship. Sacrifice.

The fumes of bodies drifting sweet and sour smoke into my nostrils, and I breathe it in as if it’s the very thing sustaining me.

I started this war, many years ago.

And, today, I regard it proudly.

I hated death. The stink clung to my skin like ash, as if the remains of the bodies were clinging to my warmth, desperate to feel life one more time.

But now, I love it.

I never knew a war could bring me so much joy, so much pleasure.

Or that the scorching red of the Greeks’ blood would look so heavenly on my lips.

*

I was accustomed to feeling unworthy, insignificant – they made me feel that way.

They always have.

They looked at me with such disgust, such scorn, like I had no place standing next to them. Like I was an outsider, a piece of dirt on their sandals.

Athena, Hera, Artemis.

Women were all the same.

Goddesses and mortals, alike.

The same hate, comparison, envy ran through our veins. It fed us, more than blood or water or food ever could, fuelling our words and actions until we were hanging on a hook of rage, shame, and guilt.

Athena, Hera, Artemis. They felt no shame or guilt. They enjoyed isolating me, whispering to each other as I walked into a room, consuming what they hoped was insecurity.

It was.

I’d grown up with insecurity like it was my friend, my shadow. You may not think so – I was known for my beauty, but being told something didn’t always mean you felt it. But, when a human man gazed at me, eyes brimming with lust, I saw my beauty reflected there. When my worshippers carved statues of me, I saw it in the marble of my face, and when my husband, Hephaestus, scolded me, I heard it in the jealously dripping from his voice.

Being this beautiful often meant I was cast aside, not deemed intelligent or cunning enough to be involved in the politics of Mount Olympus. To the others, I was best kept fawning over myself and entertaining myself with the meagre craft of love.

As if that’s all I was.

It wasn’t, was it?

Doubt crippled through me like an arrowhead.

I may not be respected like Hera, or in demand like Athena, but I still played my part.

Didn’t I?

The sea was powerful before me, and my emotions mirrored its wildness. I felt out of control, shamed into believing I wasn’t good enough through the actions of others.

A noise to my right drew my attention and I glanced over to see a mortal on his knees. His hands were clasped tightly together, my name like a whisper on his lips. He looked dirty, his clothes ripped, but his face glowed when he finally met my eyes.

Usually, I wouldn’t do this unless it was a mortal I wished to bed, but I uttered my words, my spell, of love to him anyway, and he fell hard and fast. All of him went lax, like he was weighed down by love, consumed by me, and my chest sagged with relief.

I could control mortals, at least – a man’s lust being the crutch with which they walked, so maybe I held more control than I thought, than the others thought.

But Athena carried wisdom, war.

And I held only love and lust.

What could love and lust really accomplish? Brain dead, obsessive zombies? Petty arguments and passionate embraces? How could that represent my true power?

I could feel the man’s eyes on me as strongly as if he were groping me, could hear him muttering incessantly: Can I get you anything, ma’am? Can I warm you up, my goddess? His voice sounded raw and hungry.

I looked away, enjoying the pulsing of the waves, the calls of the nymphs deep in the depths of the sea. I bent to look into a puddle of water trapped in a hole in the sand and saw my reflection.

I was beautiful.

Of course, I was.

But I would never provide counsel like Athena.

Save lives like Hera.

Or hunt like Artemis.

And that was starting to unnerve me.

I looked over at the man still on his knees, like a dog waiting for a command. That was the best I could do, it seemed.

Their words came to me like a wave, and I felt it smother me in cold:

‘Beauty doesn’t get you very far, remember that, Aphrodite.’

‘She only presides over love – what good can that do?’

I thought to the many statues erected in my honour to appease any insecurity, my heart fluttering at how flawless I always looked, how my worshippers saw me. Yes, my statues ignited insecurity in humans, but that feeling plagued us all.

Even the one who inspired them.

Had I been making love to humans for too long? Had I somehow absorbed their behaviours and become overwhelmed by them?

The sun was beautiful as it set, casting pink reflections onto the sea’s surface. It was a glorious sight, pink merging with blue, but the sun and sea were more than just beauty. They had a bigger purpose.

I had the sudden urge to throw up, to spill all my self-doubt out into the open, where I could see them. Where they weren’t building up like a foetus in my stomach, contorting my image into a shape far from what my worshippers carved me into marble.

I told the man still gaping at me to leave and watched with a hint of sadness as he did.

What was my purpose?

*

Goblets of wine and golden platters overflowing with apples and pomegranates on tables circled me as I sat on a marble chair, my hair delicately being tended to. Eagerly, for they were my favourite, I poured some red, ripe pomegranate seeds into my mouth and moaned as their sweet juices burst on my tongue. I was getting ready for the wedding of Peleus and Thetis.

‘You look so beautiful, Aphrodite,’ one of the girls tending to my hair said. She had long red hair and, for a moment, I envied the vividness of her locks. Wished her red hair was my own. I wanted to grab a knife and cut it all off, wear it on my head like a wig.

I quickly turned away, murmuring my thanks. I couldn’t stand to look at her for a moment longer, my thoughts piercing, even though my own hair shone like a thousand suns. I wished to run away, to expel my self-hatred, to ensure I always looked like the statues built in my image, my honour, the very statues people worshipped and fantasised and masturbated over. I had to look like that, always – big breasts, curvy hips, tiny waist, flawless face. Anything else was unacceptable. I spat the pomegranates seeds back onto the platter.

A tug on my hair and my eyes drifted to the redhead weaving it into a bun, tendrils falling down my face like Medusa’s snakes. I felt as snappy as they did.

Why was I feeling so envious? My self-doubts were knocking on the door to my heart, hammering with their angry fists to come in.

It was the thought of seeing Athena, Hera and Artemis that shook me. I’d managed to avoid them for so long, but I knew seeing them would be difficult. That the dread I felt now would only swell.

It would make me feel like I wasn’t good enough, make me wish I was more like them.

Unfortunately, sharing a title didn’t make you fit in.

Have you heard about the recent demi-god? I helped him with his quest, and he won back his father’s city, Athena would boast.

Artemis would stroke her own ego by divulging her recent successes, too.

I would have no reply.

What have I done other than make a mortal fall in love with me?

Zeus, I really needed to prove I was more.

I had to.

Even if it meant losing a part of myself.

*

I was nervous, walking to the wedding. Hephaestus was on my arm, slowing me down, and that only heightened my anxiety, my need to disappear, run.

But I wouldn’t disappear or run.

I would relish in the looks, the admiration, the compliments. They were my emotional battery, charging me up, ready to face whatever was thrown at me.

Entering the festivities, I was met with hushed whispers. The music slowed down; the people stared. Time stopped. I smiled – one I have practiced many times – and it was like a key in a lock. Click. Everything came back into focus. The music sped up; the people turned away with one last glance. Women with plates of food rushed to me. I took what looked like salmon from one of the plates, a thanks spilling from my lips. They reluctantly turned away once my hands were full of food, lazily walking around, nowhere near as attentive to the rest of the party as they were to me.

It made the salmon taste even better.

As I walked further into the bowels of the party, I spotted the other goddesses. They were lined up against the wall and were staring straight at me, their eyes caressing my deep purple dress.

Royalty.

Their glares narrowed as I walked through the crowd, arms crossed against their chests in defiance. Their white and green dresses paled in comparison. I smirked at them.

In response, they bent their heads together in conversation. A bolt of loneliness, like my father’s lightening, struck me, as I knew it would. In a world where women were inferior, why was it they never stuck together?

Women were masters at making other women exiles, loners.

Even when they claimed otherwise.

Ironic, wasn’t it?

How other women actually brought out the worst in each other?

Was it jealously, threat, arrogance?

The looks the goddesses gave me showed they would do everything to make sure I was not one of them.

And the reason for their disdain?

I looked down at myself.

Jealously.

The way their eyes glowered when any man, god or mortal, came up to me confirmed that to be the case. And their jealousy fuelled a desire to put me down, to make me so different to them, they believed something was wrong with me. A way to condone their feelings.

She’s such a whore, why would we want to be friends with her?

The truth was, I didn’t want to be one of them. Not really.

But I wanted to be respected by them, at least.

I wanted to respect myself.

How could I do that when they made me feel so inferior, so idiotic? Like I couldn’t put a quest together or help a mortal if I tried.

My stomach churned in discomfort.

I looked ahead, to where the crowd was pointing, and saw Peleus and Thetis, now standing on a stage, hands entwined.

I smiled.

And then, crash.

Screams and shouts filled the square in an orchestra of terror.

*

Eris, goddess of discord, always knew how to make an entrance.

Tables, with flower embroidered cloths, went flying. Food blanketed the stone. Glass fell from revellers’ hands in shock, shards as sharp as Eris’ face flying everywhere.

Eris moved slowly towards Peleus and Thetis, ignoring the landscape around her, the mortals running and yelling. ‘You think you can get away with not inviting me to your wedding?’

Thetis’ knees buckled, Peleus’ arms quivered with the strain of keeping his new wife from falling to her knees, from tarnishing her perfect dress that rippled like water. Since when had Thetis grown so weak? Was it because of Zeus? Because she was wrapped in the arms of a mortal? Or was it something else? Did all women become that way when they’d been battered and bruised over and over again by weak, insecure men?

Peleus started to stutter a response, but Eris interrupted him with a cackle. ‘You didn’t want discord, but I insist on giving it to you as your wedding gift, if you’ll accept it.’

She didn’t give the newlyweds time to answer.

Eris turned to the goddesses, a sneer drawn on her lips. ‘Here, I have a golden apple.’ She lifted up a perfectly round golden apple, twisting it in her fingers. I squinted – I swear I could see an inscription shining on its skin. ‘But it’s not your usual apple. It’s much, much sweeter. Can anyone guess why?’

‘Because it’s been touched by your hands,’ came a male answer. A voice I recognised. I turned my head and glared at Ares. He wasn’t looking at me, his eyes cast directly on Eris.

I clenched my fists together until my palms stung.

‘Nice try, Ares. But, as the god of war, you’ll definitely appreciate what it has the power to do.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘This apple starts wars.’

*

Again, why do women pit other women against each other? What was it about seeing other women fight that made women feel so powerful?

I asked this because it was exactly what Eris did with her apple trick.

I soon found out the inscription I saw on the apple said: ‘for the fairest’.

After a beat of silence, letting the apple’s inscription settle on our minds, she threw it amongst the goddesses and told us to fight for the rightful owner of the apple.

And here we were:

I’m the fairest.

No, I am.

It’s obvious I’m the fairest.

Athena, for someone so wise, you really are stupid to call yourself the fairest.

You only have to look at me to see I am the fairest.

‘As the goddess of beauty, it’s only fair to say the apple belongs to me,’ I said.

‘Being a goddess of something doesn’t necessarily make you the best,’ Athena argued. The look on her face – scorn and frustration – made her uglier and definitely not worthy of the apple. I didn’t tell her this, though.

‘Oh, so you’re not the wisest then?’ I said.

Athena’s mouth fell.

I smiled.

‘We’re never going to agree, are we? Let’s take the decision to father and let him decide.’

Athena looked like she was about to collapse. ‘I was just about to say that!’

I shrugged, casually. ‘Were you?’

Inside, everything was spinning.

I was smug.

Not only had I put Athena in her place, but I knew Zeus would pick me.

The apple was mine.

*

My smugness quickly evaporated, like smoke in the wind.

I watched it drift off with a heavy heart.

‘What do you mean you can’t choose?’ Athena yelled. She was so angry, I imagined her stomping her foot like a petulant child annoyed at their father.

It seemed Athena also thought Zeus would pick her.

Zeus bowed his head, as if Athena’s anger was his cue to leave.

And he did.

Instead, he sent Hermes.

To lead us to a Trojan prince.

*

I was in shock.

How had a simple question of ‘who’s the fairest?’ come to this?

I wasn’t – couldn’t – let any of the other goddesses have this one.

The apple was mine.

And I had to be confident enough to get it.

I winked at the Trojan prince, standing tall by Hermes’ side, telling him how handsome he was in a soft purr.

He blushed.

And men thought we were easy.

‘Paris,’ Hermes commanded to the handsome prince. ‘It is your job to crown one of these goddesses the fairest and give them the apple.’ He handed the apple to Paris. ‘Choose wisely.’

Paris looked directly at me as he answered with a firm nod.

Time to get to work.

*

After months and months of bathing in the spring of Mount Ida, Paris was yet to decide.

‘It’s so hard – I find you all beautiful.’

I grumbled at that.

In my barely dressed appearance – I had resorted to wearing less and less clothes as the days and months passed -, I couldn’t understand why I was not Paris’ choice. I was the persona of everything a man lusted for.

I was Aphrodite, for Zeus’ sake.

‘You’re just all so beautiful in different ways,’ Paris would explain when one of the goddesses asked him why the decision was such a difficult one. ‘Athena, you are so intelligent it shines through your being. Hera, your power is your charm. Artemis, your savagery is wild and free and magnificent, and, Aphrodite, you are the very essence of beauty. Choosing between you is like choosing my favourite food – all so delicious in different ways.’

My stomach rolled with nerves. If I didn’t win this, I was nothing.

I had to think.

Flirting and teasing and undressing clearly wasn’t enough anymore.

*

Paris was being bribed.

Athena bribed him with wisdom, fame, and glory in battle.

Hera with power over all Asia and Europe.

Artemis with the art and skill of the hunt, an animal never going uncaught.

And I was going to bribe Paris with the best gift of all.

*

‘So, Aphrodite, you promise me betrothal to the most beautiful woman on Earth?’ Paris asked eagerly.

‘Yes, Paris.’

He sat a little taller. The bubbles of water fanned around him, trees of blossom and orange hanging like willing servants on his every word.

‘And who is this woman?’

‘Helen,’ I replied.

‘And she’s available?’

Available? As if she was an object for sale in a market.

‘Yes.’

Paris looked up at the azure sky.

We all waited.

Would he take my bait?

Would love be enough?

Or was power, glory, too much for a man to ignore?

Beauty was all I had, and that hadn’t been enough.

This was my last chance.

I had to be something, otherwise I would always be inferior to the other goddesses. Always trying to prove myself to them.

I bounced on my feet, while Paris rose to his. Water dripped off his skin like diamonds and I noticed his erection as he stared at me.

He cleared his throat.

‘The apple goes to Aphrodite.’

And I exhaled.

I was enough.

And I had bribed Paris with the greatest gift of all.

I grinned at the others gleefully.

But there was a slight issue.

What I failed to tell Paris was that Helen was married.

Married to a king.

That’s how I started the Trojan War.

*

Helen’s husband, Menelaus, wasn’t very happy when I made her fall in love with Paris years later (like any man, Paris was determined to spend some time adventuring and whoring before his marriage).

When Helen left her home, Sparta, for Paris, Menelaus was enraged.

He roared.

Smashed.

Fought.

Destroyed.

He wore anger like a cloak, and it coloured him in red.

After Helen left, Menelaus called upon all the kings and princes of Greece to wage war upon Troy.

And, after years preparing for battle, they set sail to Troy.

*

Now, I watch the Trojan war with a smile.

It’s been ten years.

Ten years of:

Swords clashing.

Blood flowing.

Men dying, corpses littered around battlefields, sent for their final rest in triangles of fire.

It is a bath of blood, angst, hatred, and lust.

I relish in it.

I caused this.

And it made it so much more beautiful.

People fight and die in my name, all because I, Aphrodite, was smart enough to give Paris what he desired.

Of course, Athena and Hera sided with the Greeks out of spite.

Out of jealously.

It’s nice that they’re the ones to feel inferior now.

It must have hurt to lose.

*

I have learnt many things throughout the Trojan war.

And even more after.

Loss doesn’t always mean you have lost.

Not when you learn so much more – not when you learn to live and be yourself.

I am happy being the goddess of love and beauty, and those attributes belong to me and only me. No skill is more important or vital than another. Everything intwines, like vines, and I accept that I am more like the other goddesses than I ever thought. Athena’s words of encouragement once the Trojan war ended confirmed that.

Beauty comes at a cost – it makes people think less of you, that you can’t possibly me more than an attractive face. That you can’t possibly think for yourself and be smart, courageous, and imaginative. However, I’ve learnt there is an advantage to that. It means people underestimate you, think so little of your potential they put you into a box without realising it gives you the space to grow and bloom.

Athena may be the goddess of war, but I start them.

By Fleur Lilliott

aphrodite modern retelling feminist myth short story litro usa contemporary fiction mythology literary magazine trojan war goddess perspective