The room is empty. Fitting, really, as he empties his life into his stomach. Manipulation would have been my strong suit. A simple "this lovely meal is for husbands only, my dear. You've earned it" slips from my eyes to her mouth seamlessly. My sister and I are the only to watch on, the anticipation too great to look away, despite the crafted horror. I watch as bite after bite of his own flesh is stuffed past those fat, greasy lips. Lips that, seconds ago it seems, were trailing hate and silence across my untouched skin. Skin that shares blood with his meal.
I want to scream, to fight, to scorn. Tereus deserves all of the words he took from me; each and every aching syllable of defiance he stole is coursing through the veins that were severed. I can feel them still, a ghost appendage shaping the weapons I cannot throw. He takes another bite and asks about the boy. I'm begging for my voice. I want him to hear me as I tell him of his masticated son.
Instead, he hears Procne's placid lilt, "He has come in."
His nostrils flare and I am back in the dark density of underbrush. My thoughts incoherent as seafaring devolves into cat and mouse, I the prey. His brotherly musk absent, replaced by greed, lust, envy, and perhaps the rest of those deadly siblings. I cannot succumb. Motionlessly shaking, I hear my truth claw its way out of my raw throat and burst into the spoiled air encircling us. "If there is any god in Heaven, will hear me." Perchance they knew they were the epilogue, fearing being lost at the back of the line. And then, with the hot edge of his sword, they were gone.
Now I stand, vengeance at my fingertips and fire in my throat. I hold the proof of the light that has been put out in my grasp, the downy hair reminding me of the two innocences lost in his plight. Never before have I wished for speech so dearly as now. Had I the ability, I would tell him my story. Force upon him like he forced upon me the will to power. In this moment, I can feel my strength seeping back through each orifice it fled from before. I am in control. For Tereus to bear witness to this independence, for his ears to take in the words themselves, is my final wish. And though it is not to be, I feel as though I have accomplished what I needed in order to feel released from this man's grasp. I feel joy like I have not before known. It is a freedom.
I know this in these moments before I toss at him the giblets of his feast. The weight of young Itys' head fleeing my hands is the finality of my burden. As it thunks on the table and rolls idly towards its father, I see the tides change. Smugness turns first to confusion, then to horror and rage. Burning. It is an all too familiar progression and I feel pride as I shove it down his throat. A thought occurs that I should, too, cut out his tongue, but it passes as he turns to physicality in place of words. He was not a very intelligent man to begin with, why should I expect sensibility now? The overturned table matches the ruin of our lives and I am glad to be rid of it as my long arms morph into the wings I always knew they were.
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