"Reckless girl," the old woman said, looking scornfully at me. She had gray hair, or would have had it,gray hair had her head not been so covered with dirt and other, equally disgusting, things that it was now a mucky brown, long and tangled.

Her clothes were mere rags, faded and covered with just as much grime, if not more, grime than her hair. They had oft-patched holes in them, and were horribly colored, where they weren’t stained brown. Probably the cheapest items at the market where she had bought them, I reflected, and they had seen a lot of abuse since then.

She was hunched over, back bent, leaning upon a rough wooden cane. The handle was worn smooth from having her hand constantly on it. The end, also was worn smooth, from rhythmic stabbing into the ground , thus allowingas the old crone to walked.

Her face was wrinkled with great age, and I knew, just by looking at her, that even in her prime, this woman had been no more than plain. The only remarkable things about her were her eyes – steel gray, sharp, all-knowing, and powerful – and her voice. It was barely cracked with age, loud, and certain. It was not the voice of an old crone, I thought.

The woman continued "How dare you claim to be equal to the gods? There are those who know their power and respect it. Mortals were not made to be as great as they. Take my advice and ask pardon of Athena for your selfish and disgustingly boastful words."

Her displeasure resounded through her voice. I wondered, rather distantly, how she managed to do that, but I barely paid any attention to it.

She was still talking. Would she never stop, I thought, equal parts bored, angry, and irritated.

"Rest content with the knowledge that you are the best weaver that mortal blood could bear."

There was a moment of silence, in which I realized, with no small amount of relief, that the crone was finished babbling, and I readied my retort.

"Stupid, foolish old woman. What gave you the authority to say such things to me, a girl far younger than you, and far better than you at weaving? Surely not Athena herself!" I laughed scornfully, and continueds speaking. "It is obvious that your skills in any useful crafts were greatly lacking, even in your younger days. If you had been at all goodhad any significant ability, you would not come here to gaze upon both my work and my person, in your faded, worthless rags and money-lacking self. , Yyou would come in your good clothes, and in a chariot, hoping to impress me with your wealth and stature."

"Well, I do not believe that Athena would come so far merely to reprimand a young woman, and a mortal one at that, who says truly that she is as good a weaver as the goddess."

The old woman’s eyes flared bright with fury for a split second, then went back to a normal hue.

"Is that a challenge for the goddess Athena?" the crone asked carefully, voice measured.

"Of course it is, old woman. What did you think it was, a question?" I asked flippantly. What harm could a weak old woman do to me? Hit me over the head with her stick?

I was surprised when the woman straightened her bent old back, dropped the worn cane, and began to glow with divine light.

She grew taller, her hair gleamed goldencolored once more, the wrinkles on her face smoothingsmoothed, and her clothes becoming became a faded dress, then becominturnedg more vivid.

When the disguise was cast off, I saw before me Athena, goddess of wisdom, daughter of the lord Zeus and his lover Metis, and the deity I had offended.

Strangely, I was not afraid.

"You have challenged my ability to weave, mortal Arachne. Perhaps you would oblige me a contest, with the people here as the judges?" she asked, gesturing to the gaping observers.

This was not a request. It was a command phrased as a request, meant to trip me up, so that she could kill me without repercussions for her actions.

In any other situation, I would have sent a plea up to Olympus, but I did not think it would be wise to do so now.

"Very well," I replied, and strode over to my loom. Gesturing to it, I said, "You may use this one, or you may use your own, great goddess of wisdom."

She nodded, and said serenely, "I have my own loom, foolish girl. I do not need yours."

"Then bring it here, and we will both weave," I commented, and sat down at my loom.

I waited to start until Athena had conjured up her own loom and enough thread to complete a small tapestry.

"Begin," the goddess said curtly. "This is not a contest of speed."

So I did, easily slipping into the easy rhythm of weaving that I knew so well. And though I was mortal, and slow at doing things in the eyes of immortals, I was fast, but more importantly, my working, my actions, were themselves beautiful. The goddess had no chance, I thought smugly.

Athena began weaving, and she was only an iota faster than I. Either I was nearly as fast as a goddess, or Athena was going slowly for my sake. I doubted the former, because she seemed to be a little impatient with the speed of her weaving.

How dare she go slowly, just to humiliate me! She treated me as if I were a small child that needed to be subtly rebuked, not a young woman who was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and who needed no reprimand from the ‘high and mighty’ gods!

I got an idea then, to show everyone how tricksome the gods were, and how foolish humans were to worship Zeus, Hera, and their kin.

My weaving painted a picture of Zeus changing shape, to hide his affairs with Io and Danaë from Hera.

I showed how jealous the gods were - an image of the confrontation between Athena and Poseidon over what is now the city of Athens.

I included many other things, but it would bore you to hear all that I wove, for you could not appreciate how impressive my work was.

While weaving Danaë into the cloth, I looked over at my opponent and saw that she was weaving the gods in various locales, including atop Mount Olympus, and in various places. There was Zeus with his thunderbolt, and Hera had a peacock, with its beautiful feathers, on her lap.

There was Hermes, with his ridiculous winged feet, floating a bit above the floor, talking to his half-brother Hephaestus, the lame smith-god, who was all covered with soot.

There was depressing Hades, sitting in his Throne of Fear, solemnly gazing upwards at a frolicking Persephone, who danced with joy in a garden on Gaia’s domain.

Demeter, resplendent in green, was offering grain to some mortal farmers.

Eros was standing beside Psyche, ready to prick her with an arrow of love, as jealous Aphrodite watched from her palace in the clouds.

At the edges were mortals like Jason and Medusa, who had offended the gods, and what their fates had been., Even poor Atalanta, chained to Rhea’s chariot, was there.,

Was this a threat, I wondered idly. If so, I was not frightened. If Athena killed me, I would die knowing that she struck me down out of jealousy for my superior abilities.

I saw much of her weaving in a glance, and fury swept over me. Athena was almost done with her tapestry!

But, I remembered gratefully, this contest was not based on speed, so I had not lost.

Good.

The goddess stepped back a pace, to look at her finished work.

She turned her head a bit, to look at what I had done. I don not know what it was she saw that angered her., Perhaps it was the image of Io, or perhaps the mockery of herself and Poseidon.

Whichever it was, the result was the same.

Her staff appeared in her hand, golden and shimmering with Athena’s power.

She brought the staff down, hard, on what there was of my wonderful work, crunching my hand in the process, though it didn’t’without actually harming me.

"How dare you insult the gods this ways!" she cried, furious. Her staff touched my tapestry, turning it to dust.

How dare she destroy my work of art!

I stood up straight, burning with fury. "If you were a true artist, you would appreciate thee work of others!" I shouted.

Grabbing a strand of thread from what was left of my masterpiece, I yelled, "If you were a true goddess of wisdom, Athena, you would let me finish my work, and you would tolerate my difference of opinion!"

She was silent for a moment, then struck me with her staff. "Arachne, you go too far, Now, I will let you off, for you are young and foolish. And since you enjoy weaving so much, you and your descendants can do so forever."

With that, I felt a tingling sensation all over my body. I felt the tingling on my face intensify, and my vision became multifaceted. I shrunk, and I saw, more than felt, two more arms, then two more legs sprout out of my sides.

My skin became black and furry, and after a few seconds, the tingling subsided.

Nowadays, they call my kind spiders colloquially, but those who know us well call us arachnids, after me.

Oh, and yes, we do weave, if you are wondering that.