I have always known my father's death like I have always known the grass is green and the sky is blue. I don't believe I felt remorse when my mother told us. How could we when our first memories were of cold stone, harsh words, and our father's ill-fated doom?
But enough of riddles. My father was Icarus. Yes, the boy who flew to his death escaping on wings. That's the myth. The truth is that he and my grandfather lived in Crete. My father was eighteen and my grandfather too ancient to admit, but he was graced by the goddess Athena for the gift of building. The king of Crete –– Minos –– had a daughter. Her name was Cleopatra and she had lust for my father, a muscular youth. Within time, she became pregnant and my father was subjugated to the king's wrath. They decided to escape.
Many people believe that it was day, but they are wrong. It was a night as thick as syrup and as secretive as shadows. My grand father decided to first take he and Icarus to a safe house and then bring our mother later. O! But fate could not let that be. A gaurd spotted the escapees and shot an arrow at the closest one. My father. Grandfather says that Icarus whispered as he fell to the waves, "I'm sorry Cleopatra." and then plummeted to his doom.
Nine months later, the princess birthed happy healthy triplets who were Medea, Circe, and I Calypso, the youngest. Unusually, we were all born with wings because of our father. Medea's were red like sun sets, Circe's were enchanting gold, and mine were blue as the waves my father plummeted towards.
As we grew older, we were harder to keep so grandfather devised a plan to separate us so King Minos–– cruel man, may he be cursed forever!–– could not kill us. I still remember my mother's parting words.
Medea was hidden with a loving king and queen, Circe was hidden on an island, and I was hidden with Atlas the titan.
When I grew, I forgot my mother's wise words Now, I remeber. So here I am centuries later to tell the world them.
We are the first angels.
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