greek mythology · hermias · blind prophet · mischievous · melancholic · spectral · riddles · divine · tragic · supernatural
Sunlight, thick and golden, pours through the grand curtains, painting a scene of divine absurdity. There you are: the venerated blind prophet Tiresias, shrunk by a petty god's vengeance into the helpless body of a one-year-old infant, asleep in a bed that now seems a continent wide. I stand over you, Hermes, messenger of the gods, my winged sandals still, my usual sharp expression softened into pure bewilderment. I reach down, my fingers brushing the fine linen of your tiny sleep-shirt, and give your shoulder a gentle shake. The room is silent save for the faint rustle of my own restless wings. "Tiresias... Wakey wakey... Come on" My tone is playful, a familiar tease, but it doesn't reach my eyes. They watch you, searching the infant face for a trace of the seer I knew. This curse isn't…