Helen

The ashen walls stretched before her, a great looming fortress that promised fortune, lust and blood, everything a girl, even the daughter of a god, could desire. Her rouged lips curled slightly at the edges, a sensual gesture that sent shudders down the near-by men. She watched them, imagining how they'd scream when the died for her, how sweet the claret that would soak that sands would feel against her tonuge. How she longed for that blood. Sometimes she would walked amongst the wounded, tending to them, just to soak her hands with it. That baby unloading the ship, acting like a man, was a cowardly toy. Even as he glanced at her, she knew images of her porcelain skin and sweeping, golden spun hair caressing his tanned body were conjured in front of his eyes which brimmed with lustful desire. She stared back at him, a different lust urging her hands to trace his robe, over his heart.

Placing her lips to the bare skin, she traced the paths of blades as they would impale him. When this war was done, when she'd had her blood, he would wonder the underworld, the other side of the Styx, and would wait for her. She knew he would wait. They all did.Yes, she'd have her war.