To whoever finds this:

  I will no longer document the pitiful thing I call an existence. This is my last attempt to let my story be known.

  I believe myself falsely accused of the charges that chained me here—an exile decreed not by fate, but by Zeus himself. The Olympians cast me into this hidden dimension, far from Earth, yet they left me with a sky and sea to mock my confinement. I am surrounded by illusions of freedom I can never touch.

  The stars never change, the waves never stray, and the wind holds no scent of the world beyond. How I miss those days—the fresh air playing through my hair, the simple joy of wandering, encountering others freely. It was the best time of my existence. But that freedom was brief. The Olympians rose up, and before I could choose a side, I was locked away.

  Why me!? What had I ever done but exist? Is my life so entwined with fate that I had to be imprisoned before I even had the chance to choose my path?

  Now I am trapped in a cage of timeless beauty, a place mortals cannot find—unless, by some strange twist, they stumble through the veil guarding this prison. Mortals used to appear on occasion, bringing brief flickers of life to my eternity of silence. Hermes would sometimes visit, if those mortals were on a mission for the gods. But now, dear mortal, should you find this, know it has been ages since a ship crossed my horizon. I am left here to languish, abandoned by gods and men alike.

  My existence is bound to this prison, so even the mercy of death eludes me. Perhaps it wasn’t intended—perhaps even Zeus, for all his arrogance, never considered the true consequences of chaining me to a place like this. But that does not ease my suffering.

  This is an endless existence. My life, unyielding as the tides that crash upon these cursed shores. And these visions—they haunt me. Boxes appear before my eyes, flickering with the faces of men I once knew. They are distorted now, hazy memories that plague me. Their features have blurred with time: no eyes, no distinguishing marks, just ghosts of the past.

  Time has lost meaning. I once could track it by the visits I received, but now... now I fear I am truly alone. Perhaps the last immortal, forgotten in mortal minds, as mortal lives are so frail and beautiful.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Know this, reader of my final attempt to reach the outside world: the gods and titans I grew up with are not infallible. I am not infallible. But if I’m correct, unlike me, they were all inexplicably tied to mortals—not by faith, but by the knowledge of their existence. If we are forgotten, we fade. That fading is like death, and yet that release eludes me. I can’t even beg Hades or Persephone to come; they don’t hear me. My voice now falls only on those deaf to my pleas.

  Would you come to my rescue, dear reader? I can’t promise you safety or any comfort in my presence, as I have no idea what rumors may have circulated about me. The small truth I can share is that my immortal free will is severely limited. Even Circe enjoys more freedom than I, and the mortals of your world more than she. I hope I can cling to my sanity a while longer... though perhaps it would be easier to let it go.

  To whoever finds this... I have set a small enchantment upon this parchment. It will lead you to me if you wish to try and set me free. But I understand if you would rather believe the rumors than hear the truth from my own lips.

  Carefully, Calypso set down her writing instrument and let the ink dry. She rose slowly, barefooted, her sleeveless dress bleached white and worn, its color and vibrancy faded long ago. Her bronze skin, darkened by endless sunlight, contrasted sharply with her sun-bleached hair, tangled and matted as it fell to the ground.

  Though beauty still lay beneath her unkempt appearance, her brown eyes held no light. Moving as if on autopilot, she rolled the message up with the delicacy of handling a treasure, then fetched a bottle from a nearby shelf before stepping out of her small, barren abode. She had poured every last ember of hope into that message, and now her heart and mind felt numb, hollowed out.

  Silently, tears rolled down her face, blurring her vision as she slipped the message into the bottle and corked it. She walked to the beach, the weather perfect, as it always was. The wind blew just so, the air was warm, and the sky clear. There were no birds, no animals—just silence and the lapping waves she walked toward. As she neared the water’s edge, she felt the weight of her invisible chains, growing heavier, tightening against her magic as she approached the barrier she could never cross.

  Even bound as she was, she forced herself as far into the water as her curse allowed.

  “Please…” Her voice cracked, barely audible. “Let this find the one who can help me. I’m so tired. I just want to close my eyes.”

  She whispered it to the fates, hoping that this one last plea might reach someone. She stood there, dead-eyed, watching her last hope drift out, past the barrier. She knew not what else she could do.

  This was her hell.