I enter the temple, and the look on the priest's face confirms my suspicions. Achilles is not here, of course.

Pity, really. Electra had so loved the idea of such a famous brother-in-law, as she loved our father for securing such a match. As I make my way to the altar, I wonder if my father's recent actions will have any effect on Electra's incessant idolization of him. Somehow, I doubt it. Agamemnon had been at home rarely, but just often enough when I was young for me to remember him as a man, not a god. Electra had seen so little of him that he was an easy target for her imagination, eager to find someone to admire. And Oreste? Chrysothemis? Their childhoods have barely begun, and now our father leaves for some pointless decade of a war. What father will he be to them? Will he leave them trapped, as he leaves me now, on a path that leads to death? Will he give them that much? Strange; I suddenly realize that this last moment, this solitary walk to the altar, is the most my father has ever given me. I am trapped as I walk, true, but more than that, I am alone, the focus of attention, the most I've ever received from him. Is it strange that I'm almost grateful, if only for a moment?

They will say I never knew. Even now, I see it in the priest's eyes-he thinks me ignorant. The fool. The instant I stepped into this place, the overwhelming aura of death surrounded me.

Another step closer to the altar, and I wonder why I don't run. I don't want to die; I don't care about my unfaithful aunt. Why does anyone? I know, though, stronger than anything I've ever known, that running is not an option. They'd drag me, kicking and screaming, if I did, and in the end, honor is all I have. I will walk bravely to the altar. I will not flinch under the priest's knife. I will die with dignity, and not disgrace my family, even as it betrays me.

Another step, and I notice my father. His face is a blank mask, emotionless. Somehow, this does not surprise me. His politics and war-mongering had always kept him away, and he'd never been as gentle as Uncle Menelaus, but this…Do I forgive him? For being gone, for missing my childhood, for leaving for a war to miss Electra's childhood, Chrysothemis' childhood, Oreste's childhood, I have forgiven him. For valuing his brother's honor over my life?

No. Some things are unforgivable.

The priest steps forward and takes my arm. I wrench it away and continue to walk forward on my own. I lie down on the altar, and turn my head towards the temple entrance.

My mother is there. Clytemnestra, my beautiful, strong mother, has come running. Two of my father's warriors hold her back, and my heart swells with pride when I see how much trouble she's giving them. I'm beyond her screams, her enraged shouts, but I don't need to hear her—the venomous glare she's sending my father is more than enough. At this moment, though she cannot save me, I love her more than I ever have.

I turn my face upward, away from everything, away from the world that will soon cast me out. Someone's hovering above me—the Goddess? Is it she? I revel, briefly, in the warm glow of her brilliant aura, and smile.

The priest, impervious to my silent revelation, reaches for the sacrificial knife, but I ignore him, focusing on the spectre before me. She smiles, and I reach my arm upward, towards her shining face. The priest raises the knife, the Goddess takes my hand, the knife comes down—

And I am free.