Page 7 of Styx

our favours were given to us.

Our fathers were meant to put

their hands to our heads,

bless us with the knowledge

of what Gods are meant to do.

I had received no such blessing,

so the name for what I was did not yet exist.

Oceanid

It was my mother who thought up the name.

I remember it well, for it was the last time

she was not pregnant.

I had been a singular child running through

this diamond and ocean palace

for an untold era now, happy in my solitude.

But I had overheard my parents speaking

of their nephews and nieces,

how it would be good for me

if I was not the only one of my kind.

‘Styx is already strange,’ my father had said.

‘I do not wish for her to be alone.’

Perhaps I was becoming too unruly

even for my father’s old promise.

Too much for his comforts.

That day, Tethys walked into my father’s

underground chambers, the wings on her brow beating

as they always did when she was deep in thought,

and her long fingers wrapped around

my small, still plump hand, keeping me from running.

She said, ‘I have seen a vision.’

My father, who was crafting