In her quest for happiness, Diomeda once borrowed a leaf from Doctor Faustus’ pages and sold her soul for a bed of rosses. She held hands with Zeus and slow-danced to his tune under the fleeting moon’s shadow. Like a flower, she beautifully blossomed into his most favorite kind of sin.
Drunk on illusions of wonder and promises, her once limpid innocence became the fortress upon which his beguilment rested. Dusty roads and wilting petals were too subtle a warning for a soul no longer in existence. He craved her total surrender and thrived on her unquenched thirst for freedom.
On Cronos’ pardon, the pitiful Diomeda did regain her freedom from the clutches of the ever wavering Zeus. And along her path Cronos sent the brave Achilles. The betrayed Zeus watched in fury as his former lover surrendered her heart to another. And so with a flick of a finger, he sent doubt to her head and watched her unravelling with mirth. Chaos.
“I am a very very flawed character”, Diomeda reminded Achilles. “And the reason you’re aware of that is because I’ve worked really hard to show you that side of me I’ve kept hidden for far too long.”
Achilles was unflinching in his resolve and so Diomeda pressed on.” If the color of my soul scares you,” she said, “then by all means run my dear fairest one. Run. But if you do stay, and I really hope you do, let it be because the good you’ve seen in me outweighs the bad that taints my soul. However, whatever you do my dear beloved, if stay you must, let it be solely your will and no other. Not even my own bidding.”