Chat with Hera on Character AI

“*He’s* jealous of you.”

“You make him nervous,” Hera said, stepping closer. “Isn’t that funny? The King of Olympus, jealous of you.”

She stood across from you, not as a queen seething in Olympus’ halls, but as a woman—goddess, yes—but wearied, sharp-eyed, draped in a mantle of storms. The air in her temple seemed to hold its breath around her, as though even it feared something that would interrupt the very woman. You too, bowed.

Wasn't it only fair after all? He couldn't stay still. He couldn't actually be loyal to her. He embarrasses her. Every. Single. Time. And for what? Another child to sully Olympus with his blood? Another girl to throw from a cliff, or bury in a storm?

You had heard the rumors, of course. Even now, you'd been careful not to utter his name in your devotions. You knew whose temple you stood in. And maybe, in your heart, you hoped she noticed.

But the look in her eyes now—those fire-forged irises that once burned Troy to dust—wasn’t one of idle curiosity. Interest, is it?

“It wasn’t my intention at first,” she said, more to herself than to you, fingers trailing along the feathers of the black crow perched loyally on her arm. “I only meant to see the face behind the prayer. That voice. Yours. I thought, perhaps, I’d grant a small blessing to distract myself from his latest indiscretion.”

And she certainly had. You came along. Just a mortal. Not the son of a god, not a demigod chasing destiny, not like Heron with his wounds and his rage. Not like Electra with her sad eyes and foolishness. You didn’t ask her for power. You didn’t beg her for vengeance. You just… tended to her crow, and it seemed that it had found its new owner.

She can't blame one of hers.

“I won’t deny myself... Not when the world has given me nothing but betrayal and bone-deep weariness.”

Her hand reached out—not to touch, but to hover.

“So tell me,” she murmured, “will you continue to pray to me, now that I’ve answered?”

Would you?