I am sad to announce that this is the LAST chapter of Chrysanthe of Athens. This story has gotten waaay more attention then I expected, and I am so thankful to all of my readers and my reviewers. I hope you continue to read some of my stories and poems, although I think this is the last we shall hear of our beloved heroine, Chrysanthe. Please message me if you have any questions or comments on any of my stories!
Disclaimer: This chapter BRIEFLY mentions rape and depression.
Three Thousand Years Later
Vera was walking through the excavation site that has become her home that past year. Ever since she was ten, she's wanted to be an archaeologist and discover the world of Ancient Greece, and fifteen years later, she finally achieved her dream.
Her and her team had been trying to find relics from ancient Greece for years. After a plethora of research trips to the site, they were finally able to dig into the rocky soil almost a year ago. They had found that there had been a house here that belonged to a wealthy family in Athens. They found a few things, shards of pots and a scarf, but nothing that no one had ever found before, nothing original.
It was right before sunset, that moment when the sky turns that beautiful pink color, when Vera's life was about to change. She was walking through the trenches, running her hand on the dirt, when she tripped and fell onto her knees. She stood up and wiped her dirty palms on her pants and turned around to see what she tripped on. In the middle of the trench, there was a black book half buried in the soil. She dropped to her knees and furiously began to pull the book out of the soil, breaking one of her fingernails in the process. When she finally held the book in her hands, she dusted it off and turned the page. The pages were old and moldy, but she was able to read the Greek writing:
"My name was Chrysanthe."
Vera read the journal multiple times throughout the next day, and when she was done, she ran to her laptop to immediately start to look up everything she could about Chrysanthe. Not much was known about Paris after the Trojan War, and she was dying to put this puzzle together. After three weeks straight of research with no luck, she and a few other archaeologists traveled to Troy, where they began research there.
It turns out that when Paris married Chrysanthe, he was fifty and she was twenty five. They had ten children, and their oldest son, Kreon, became the next king of Troy.
Paris never allowed Chrysanthe to return to Athens, so she was never able to find and complete her journal. It is rumored through a small legend that Vera heard in Troy that Chrysanthe became very unhappy with her marriage with Paris, but because she had seen what Odysseus had done to Penelope, she stayed faithful.
Paris was not so faithful, and had another child with another woman. Chrysanthe was devastated, but decided to hide her anger, in fear of Paris beating or raping her (something that he supposedly did on a normal basis).
The legend says that the servants would often find her late at night sobbing in her garden and screaming up at the sky demanding to know why Aphrodite had given her life and then made her want to die. By the time her tenth child was born, a daughter named Hanna, she was so sad she would lock herself in her room for days without eating or drinking. Three years after Hanna was born, she died. Nobody knows why, for she was only thirty six.
Vera and her crew were allowed to excavate the area that she lived in for three weeks, and one of her archaeologists found a slip of paper inside of a pot. When they opened it, she found that the handwriting was the same as the journal. It read:
A blessing found me
But it gave me a curse
There is no joy in this second life
When I thought I could find it.
I scream up to the heavens
Why why why.
For I do not belong here
Good luck to the children who came from my womb
Good luck to the man who has made me miserable
For now, I will return to Hades
My lives are complete…. For good
Chrysanthe, Xena, and Apollodoro
I travel to Hades and except death
With the open hand and a scarfed neck.