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Her reflection reflected pure austerity and sharpness, a queen plunged in sorrow.

Lady Hera sat from the balcony of their chambers. On her left palm was a golden chalice half-filled with nectar. She swayed it lightly to sustain the wine's rich blend. It had been idle for who knows how long now.

The moon gleamed over her ivory skin as a tear escaped her mellow emerald eyes.

A crestfallen breath escaped her lips.

The hour was nigh, the night aged old. Her husband was still not at their room.

Hera took a sip, ever so rueful.

She thought of how pathetic she looked. The Queen of the Olympians, indomitable and magnified by all the gods and goddesses, was sitting on the balcony window as she awaited the return of her perfidious king. Her glare shot like daggers towards the horizon while a frown rested upon her delicate lips.

She thought back of the days when she was still innocent and gleeful. The fresh scent of the oceans will always invoke wistful nostalgia. She reminisced the wonderful marriage of her foster parents, Oceanus and Tethys. Her mother, Rhea, delivered her to them in hopes of getting her temperamental attitude under control.

Hera had always admired how her foster parents were able to nurture so much love that it did not falter with time. The Oceanids are so fortunate to have such loving parents. She made a promise to herself back then that if she will ever marry, she would persevere for a marriage just like theirs.

Now, she wonders what in heavens happened to her life.

Stars fell across the galaxy. They beamed with a melancholic blue glimmer.

The tears of Mother Hera splashed across the starry skies.

She picked up her mirror and gazed at herself.

Her reflection reflected pure austerity and sharpness, a queen plunged in sorrow.

Eyes are the windows of the soul. No matter who or what one is, the eyes always convey the emotions one onerously hides. No one was an exception and Hera herself knew this. Peering deeper into the eyes of her reflection, she hastily threw the mirror in a fit of rage.

Her eyes, they were so lifeless, so broken and so weary.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Hera wished she was not an immortal goddess. She personally longed for the short tragicomic life of the mortal humans on Earth. Humans live a short life and death is a certainty to them. When death comes, all the pain and strife will cease as their souls transcend to the afterlife.

When did the thoughts of demise even started to enter her mind? She used to be so thankful that she had an immortal life to spend with the people she held dear. She enjoyed basking in the glory of her conquests and willingly shared her wisdom and knowledge to those who sought it. She was a magnificent willow tree, a safe haven for the young sprouts beneath it.

She disdainfully stared at her reflection on her chalice.

This is not her, not one bit.