I.

Her first memories were of calloused hands. They shaped her, making arms lean and lips full, taking artistic liberties here and there for purposes she did not yet understand. When she emerged from the fire, cheeks reddening with new life, she felt cold for the first time. Looking down on her with pride was a man with a beard the color of rust and a curved back. Noticing her shivering, he handed her a chiton. As she knelt to pick up the fabric and began slipping it over her shoulders, she heard a booming voice enter the room as a door slammed against the wall. 

“It is time, Hephaestus,” the god, a striking figure with impressive height and eyes that crackled like lightning, said as he glanced around the room, noticed the newly made girl, and stepped closer to her.  

“She is only now alive.” Hesitance crept into Hephaestus’ voice as he peered at the girl. “She needs time.” 

“And Prometheus needs to pay. It is not right what he has done.” The man, again, walked towards the girl, and outstretched a hand to her. “Are you ready to meet your husband?”  

“Husband?” She felt the foreign word on her tongue, unwelcome as rain on the perfect summer day. She looked at Hephaestus questioningly. “What does he mean by husband?” She assumed her maker would be truthful with her. The shape of his back and the scars on his arms seemed to prove he had a hard life. His consistent worried glances towards her should have made her wonder if she would have the same. 

Hephaestus gave her a pitying look as he said, “You will learn in due time. Be safe, child.” He turned to the other deity in the room and addressed him. “Zeus, do not harm her. She is very young and knows not even her own name, let alone the petty pride that has caused her creation.” 

Zeus glared at Hephaestus, then straightened out his expression into one of contempt. “Thank you for a job well done,” he said before turning his gaze to the girl still hovering in the corner. “A name? Hmmm. I think we shall call you Pandora.”  

As she had before, she tried the name with her lips. Pandora. Where “husband” seemed sour, “Pandora” was bittersweet. There was some unknowable taint on her name that she couldn’t grasp, like a sunspot on an aged manuscript. Pandora. 

Zeus smiled as she spoke her new name. “It is time to meet your husband, Epimetheus. He will certainly love you.” He motioned towards her body as he said this. Pandora did not understand the gesture.  

Pandora turned towards Hephaestus with an inquiring glance. The latter could do nothing but give a cautious nod.  

Zeus came forward and grabbed her arm in a tight hold as he began to lead her through the door from which he came. Pandora, confident in Hephaestus’ decision, obediently followed him. She did not yet know fear or that the aggressive way in which Zeus grasped her was not that of a kind leader but of a predator capturing its prey.  

He led her to the clearing outside of Hephaestus’ home, where curious creatures were grazing in the field. They were all a dazzling shade of white, like polished pearls, with feathers sprouting from their backs.  

Zeus saw her shocked expression and, smiling, said, “Pegasus.” Pandora, excited, tried to break from his hold and run toward the winged animals, but an increased pressure on her forearm held her back. 

“Now what would Epimetheus think if we gave you to him all bruised? You want to be desirable for him, don’t you?” He spoke this last bit with a glint in his eyes, as if he was making a joke that she wasn’t in on. 

“Yes?” she said, confused, the word halfway between an answer and a question.  

Zeus smirked, lessened the grip on her arm, and continued to lead her to the Pegasus. 

II.

After an extraordinary flight, the two landed on a beach and began to dismount. The sand was like refined powder beneath their feet. Pandora reached down and grabbed a handful, smiling as the miniscule grains slipped between her fingers and danced on the breeze before gently gliding away. 

Like at the field, Zeus moved towards her and held her arm in an unescapable grip, instructing Pandora to move up towards the house at the top of the hill. 

The sheer size of it delighted Pandora, though, in truth, she had never seen any other than Hephaestus’. Despite being in an uninhabited area, the house was glistening with gilded columns and exquisite statues. The owner clearly valued the material. Pandora urged Zeus to go faster, attempting to increase their pace. The latter, who’d she’d been expecting to smirk (why he did it so often, she could not fathom) simply grunted in response. The charismatic god was there no longer, charms replaced by a stoicism she didn’t understand. 

As they were about halfway to the house, a middle-aged man ran out to meet them. His hair was balding, and it was clear that he did not often venture outside. His mouth was marked with lines, which Pandora would, in time, learn were born of scowls, not smiles.  

The man, having reached them, doubled over, and panted, desperately out of breath. Once he recovered, he assessed the two figures before him, his eyes flitting over Zeus with the familiarity of a piece of furniture he passed in his home every day before lingering on Pandora. Immediately, his face morphed into one not of joy but ecstasy, mouth transforming into a wolfish grin. 

“This is her?” he asked Zeus, beginning to bounce from one foot to the other, clearly annoying the one he was speaking to.  

“Yes,” Zeus replied, with an edge of finality in his tone, “She is now yours. You remember our deal, Epimetheus?” 

Distractedly staring at Pandora, Epimetheus muttered, “Of course,” before reaching to touch her wrist.  

Zeus, lightning quick, batted his hand away, saying, “Not so fast,” before turning to Pandora and guiding her where Epimetheus would be out of earshot. 

“Pandora, you are very young. There are things about this world that you don’t understand yet,” he paused and sighed, his stern expression from earlier now one of remorse, though Pandora did not understand what this feeling was.  

“Like what?” she asked innocently, big blue eyes gazing up at him.  

This made matters worse for now Zeus was avoiding her eyes as he spoke the words mechanically, “There are things Epimetheus will want from you. You should not give them to him. No matter what, let this jar remain unopened.” 

Pandora, taking this instruction very literally, replied, “I will not open the jar.”  

Zeus, seemingly in a fit of contemplation, gave her a pat on the shoulder and led her back to Epimetheus.  

“She has promised what I asked of her. I will now take my leave of you. Do not fall into the same trap as your brother, Epimetheus.”  

The man he referred to was still gazing adoringly at Pandora and nodded voraciously, wanted the god of the sky to be gone already. 

Zeus, now looking at Pandora, gave her a final word of advice, “Remember what I told you. Do not shatter the jar you have been given. Good luck.” With that, he bid the two goodbye and began walking back down the hills toward his Pegasus. 

Pandora waved eagerly as he mounted and flew off into the sunset. 

III.

As soon as Zeus was a speck in the distance, Epimetheus yanked Pandora back to the house behind him.  

When she entered, he began to push her towards the master bedroom, her feet scraping the marble as she went.  

“Where is the jar?” Pandora asked inquiringly, figuring it was somewhere in the house and that she must guard it carefully, lest it fall into the wrong hands. 

“Jar?” Epimetheus looked at her. Recognition dawned on his face and the corners of his lips twitched upward. “You’ll have to find the jar. It’s part of your job to protect it. Now, why don’t we go lie down in the back. You must be tired.”  

The innuendo was lost on Pandora. “No, thank you,” she said politely, “I’d rather start looking for the jar. I want to keep my promise to Zeus.”  

Her husband frowned and muttered, “You stupid girl.” She didn’t understand why he was upset with her. Didn’t he want her to protect her jar? He was in on the deal she made with Zeus, clearly. 

Epimetheus, realizing something, began to smile as Pandora scrunched her forehead in, pondering these questions. “You go look for the jar, my sweet. I’m sure you’ll find it in no time,” he said coyly. Then, as if Pandora couldn’t hear him, “I’m never one to back down from a challenge. The chase will be worth the capture.”  

Pandora simply blinked at him before scampering away, looking for the jar in the master bedroom while Epimetheus shook his head, a knowing smile on his face.  

III ½.

And this was how the couple spent the next several months. Pandora searching vigorously for the jar, to no avail, and Epimetheus trapsing after her, attempting to seduce her.  

One day, she entered a room towering with books while on her quest. The jar was immediately forgotten as she spun in a circle, taking in all the shelves and scrolls. Books were scattered on the couch, desk, and any other inch of exposed space in the room. She approached one of the towering piles and picked up the title on the top of the stack. 

The Iliad, it read. She cleared off the pile of quills and parchment abandoned on the desk chair and sat, turning to the first page. “Sing, goddess, of the rage of Achilles.” 

Words and emotions and images flooded her being as she sat entranced, beginning to know the comfort of a good story. 

Meanwhile, Epimetheus was at his wits end. He could not get his wife to sleep with him, let alone have a conversation with him that didn’t involve feelings or the latest book she’d read. Lately, she’d begun to study the philosophers, Plato and Aristotle and Socrates. She lately wanted to know his opinion on the cave theory, which he had never heard of. Yes, he had a library, but it was for appearance’s sake only. His guests only needed the idea that he was well read before they climbed into bed with him. 

Nevertheless, Pandora had drastically changed since she began her stay at his home. All these new ideas and opinions weren’t good for her. She’d realize what the deal was truly about and leave him without him ever getting to touch her. She was already beginning to ask him why she couldn’t find the jar 

Something had to be done. He knew what the cost of it would be, his own brother being evidence, but frankly he didn’t care. Let Zeus chain him to a boulder and have a vulture pick at his liver. Pandora was specifically made for him and if he didn’t get to have her just once, he might even tie himself up for the bird to peck him himself. 

So, he began to plot and, when his plan was complete, he would set it into motion and shatter Pandora’s jar.  

IV.

The wind tickled Pandora’s face as she sat on the beach reading. She’d been delighted to know that Homer had written a sequel to the Iliad, another epic called the Odyssey. She was currently at the part where Odysseus, the title character, was stranded on Ogygia with Calypso. 

That was often how she felt with her own husband. Stranded. He was the only person she’d spoken to for months, the third person she’d spoken to in her short life. She tried to be an attentive wife; she really did. But Epimetheus either wanted her to grovel at his feet, thanking him for the ornate home in which she lived, or to go to the master bedroom to do only gods know what.  

Though she’d read countless stories by this point, she still couldn’t fathom what it was Epimetheus wanted with her. To simply lie side by side, gazing into each other’s eyes? She’d read of romance but couldn’t picture herself fawning over him. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never cracked open a book in his life! She simply couldn’t love him.  

In truth, she’d considered leaving many times. But she was always drawn back to the same questions: Where would she go? Who would take her in?  

Everything she knew she’d learned from literature. Books were her friends, whereas she had none in her current reality. What if, once she truly escaped to the real world, no one would put up with her?  

Another thing that bothered her was that she had never met any like herself. True, she’d only met three people in her life, but they were all men. She wondered if women even did exist or if she’d simply been created as a cruel joke, a fantasy come to life, something out of the story books she read. She hoped that one day, if she ever did get to leave Epimetheus, she would meet someone like Calypso or Circe or Penelope. She hated to think she was truly alone in the world. Perhaps they could tell her what her husband wanted from her. 

As if summoned, Epimetheus appeared behind her, walking slowly towards where she sat by the tide, as it slipped up and down the shore. “My love, are you not hungry from sitting in the sun all day? Let’s go inside. I’ve made you a plate of your favorites. Maybe you’ll tell me about what you’re reading?” He said this last part bashfully, as if this wasn’t what she had wanted every day for the last nine months.  

Still wary, she climbed to her feet and followed him inside. On the dining room table was a spread of meats, cheeses, and breads, as well as LOTS of salt (her favorite condiment, she couldn’t get enough of it). Behind all of this was an intricately decorated cake, with her name written in loopy script. She didn’t think he’d ever listened to her. Was he playing the dumb fool all this time before winning her over with his attentiveness? Maybe he did this so she could have a romance like those in the stories she read. She knew she thought she could never love him but if he was going to be so sweet and chivalrous to her, she figured she could have a change of heart.  

Over dinner, they talked. Truly talked. He allowed her to tell him of The Odyssey and what she thought of it, how she had mixed feelings toward Odysseus and felt inspired by Penelope. His face soured at this last part (Epimetheus saw himself as the suitors being rejected again and again while Pandora was the chaste Penelope, unweaving her shroud every night). 

When she finally worked up the courage to ask him the question she’d been dying to know the answer to, he answered truthfully. No, there were no women like her, she was the only one of her kind. The stories were simply cautionary tales of what would happen if women were created. Helen was, after all, the woman whose face launched a thousand ships.  

When the conversation ceased, he, like always, led her to the master bedroom. This time, however, he was delightfully surprised when she grabbed his hand as she crossed the threshold.  

“Show me, my love, what you’ve been wanting all this time. I think I’m ready to know.”  

Needing no further instructions, he shoved her towards the bed. The backs of her knees hit the mattress and she landed on the bed with a soft thump. Epimetheus stalked towards her, hunger in his eyes.  

From there, she experienced things through a haze. Breath against her face, hands forcefully roaming her body, a searing pain she had never experienced before.  

She cried out, begging for him to stop, and, when he wouldn’t, prayed to Calypso, Penelope, Circe, but the characters in her stories couldn’t save her this time.  

It wasn’t until later, when she’d returned to herself, that she saw the blood on the sheets and realized, with a stifled scream, what the jar truly was.  

V.

Another nine months have passed. Pandora sits propped up by pillows as Hera instructs her. She gives one final heave before collapsing back onto the bed. She hears a snip and crying before a bundle of blankets is placed into her arms. She looks down at the child. Her daughter.  

Hera gives her a squeeze on the shoulder and a friendly smile before going to clean herself, knowing she needs time alone with the baby. She has been so gracious in letting her stay with her for the course of her pregnancy.  

As soon as Epimetheus had had his way with her, the gods were alerted immediately, as disease and death began to fall upon the mortals that worshipped them. Zeus arrived immediately, Hephaestus on his heels to whisk Pandora away to Mount Olympus. They both issued their apologies, Zeus for his plot and Hephaestus for not intervening. She did not know if she could forgive them. She’d asked to stay with someone else and to her surprise, she was sent to live with Hera. Apparently, women and goddesses were two separate concepts, but Pandora was just thankful to be around someone more like herself. 

Now, she gazes lovingly at her daughter, thinking to herself. She thinks of her stories and Epimetheus. Of the fierce women she thought she had lost to fiction. As she looks at the child in her arms, she now only thinks of a single word. 

Hope.