The Revelation (Pandora's Harem 1) A Reverse Harem Tale(5)

A deep breath escapes my lips. I lean back against the door, my spine smacking flush with the squares carved in the ornate panel. My place is small, but filled with details I love. Maybe it has something to do with having come from Olympus, but I don’t really know since I can’t remember anything from the day I was last on Mount Olympus, the day I was born. Or created as Chaos so happily divulged earlier.

The thought strikes a chord in me. I don’t know if I like the idea that I was created as opposed to having been born. This whole notion of being human but not mortal is unnerving. I’m made of flesh and bone, of that I know for sure because the mother of all books is resting in my arms and it’s killing me, its binding now biting into my skin. Yet according to Kaye I’ve been on this earth for thousands of years, recycling my soul, jumping from one body to the next and with each reincarnation—if I can call it that—I forget the person I was last residing in. Talk about crazy crap. No wonder I spend an hour each week on a therapist’s couch.

Which brings me to a second thought. One that concerns my nifty little box of evils and why I lifted its lid. If I was created as an adult rather than born as a baby, then I was never a kid. And in my mind, then maybe the Pandora who existed at the time Zeus had ordered her made, just wanted a moment to be the little girl she never was given the chance to be. I mean, kids are usually the ones who fall to curiosity, always doing what they’re told not to do, right? Maybe that’s why I opened the jar and unleashed hell on earth. It’s all that makes sense to me because I can’t see why else I’d have done such a thing.

I stare at the book in my arms. Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? Even now I’m itching to delve into the tome’s secrets, my fingers literally tingling with anticipation of what I’ll find once I start thumbing through the pages. If I had a jar or box in my hands instead of a book right now, and if I was told not to peek inside, I’d have my nose so deep in its cavity, I’d end up like those cats I see on memes who stick their heads in glass canisters or small fish bowls and can’t get out.

I am such an imp. And I bet Zeus knew I’d be this way. I was the catalyst to do his dirty work and nothing more. Bastard. Or maybe not. I really don’t have a right to judge a soul I don’t even know.

With a sigh I push off the door and shimmy out of my down coat, a spark nipping at my cheek as the fur-trimmed hood makes a mockery of my hair. I don’t need a mirror to know what I must look like—straight black hair fanned out over my shoulders making me appear as if I just stuck a finger in an electrical socket. Winter is an awesome time of year, but I can do without the little nuisances such as static electricity playing stylist to my long hair. I hang my coat on a peg on the brass stand in the corner.

I relax my shoulders, my mind wandering back to the book held against my chest. After a few good hours of reading, I should have a better grasp on my life. At least that is the plan.

Skirting the glass-topped sofa table on the opposite wall, I toss my keys into the small silver tray on top, the clank of metal against metal singing at my ears. My purse goes next, but with a much quieter fall that gives off a dull thump.

I think about my cellphone, but I’m so rattled over today’s news, I’m not in the mood to handle calls. I leave the cell in my purse and head into the living room, my body free of all added junk save for Zeus’s book. I flop on the couch.

Reaching for the lamp on the side table, I twist the small brass knob on its base and turn it on. Under the light, I notice a black smudge, like a line of ash but dusted with fine gold specks, mars the cuff of my white sweater. I guess the mark comes from the book, its coloring and gilt edges wearing off on my clothes thanks to my too tight grip on the thing. At least it didn’t muck up my jeans. A new sweater I can afford, but replacing my pair of corset ankle jeans is not in this month’s budget.

I sink into the sofa’s soft yellow cushions and splay open Zeus’s tome in my lap. A slight warmth covets my thighs.

Interesting. k12

I almost feel as if this book has a life of its own, maybe it even has a living soul. Being from the gods, who knows what magick is contained in its pages.

Kaye’s words of warning filter into my head.

I don’t see how now knowing I’m Pandora is going to cause such a stir in my life. Since I don’t do the friend thing much, there’s little chance of me slipping up on that front. Even my neighbor, Mary, who occupies the only other apartment on this floor, has only once had a full conversation with me. We’re strictly the ‘Hi’ and ‘How ya doing’ type of neighbors. I don’t even know her last name. I think I’ve waved to her, maybe like twice in as many years. I don’t have enough friends to worry about slipping up. No one is going to know I’m from Olympus.

I flip through the first section of the book which consists only of drawings of the gods, similar type of artwork like you see painted on Greek urns and frescoes in museums. A few pages later and still I’m not finding a table of contents. Maybe it doesn’t work that way. Maybe it’s one of those fate type of things, like when you’re told by a psychic to just pick a card from the tarot deck and not put your mind to which one you’re drawing out from the pile? Regardless, that’s the approach I’m taking.

Closing my eyes, I fan my fingers over the book’s edge and carefully slip them between the pages, forcing the spine to bend where my hand now sits. My eyelids open and I stare down at the page.