Doxxing Olympus Part I

Per my last missive, Prometheus stopped by in the comments section and pointed out the mortal saying: “You can catch more flies with honey than you can with vinegar.”

I get what he’s saying. I do.

But I don’t think I would be doing you mortals a favor by failing to remind you of how you exist on the Earth. (As for why you exist? Well, you need to figure that out for yourselves, with the help of the Immortals. And that is precisely why Zeus has ordered us to live among you.)

You must remember: it is weaved into the very fiber of our being to take vengeance against human pride and arrogance (see Ovid, Hesiod, Homer, Apollodorus, et al., in case you’ve swam in the River of Lethes yet again). Thus, it is natural for us to get—as you humans like to say—“pissed off” when mortals engage in gross acts of hubris.

Alas, I’ll say no more on the matter. I’ll let Gaea (should she choose) issue future environmental PSAs…


I have received a disturbing, anonymous letter. It was addressed to me in scrawled black ink.

The sender wrapped the envelope with twine, along with a sprig of dried hydrangea. It was left on the stump of an oak tree, right in the middle of a field of wild mint.

A field I visit at least once a day while contemplating my integration into the mortal world—and how it will all play out.

The sight of the envelope made me queasy.

I picked a mint leaf, rubbed it between my fingers, and popped it into my mouth. The menthol cooled and refreshed me. It shouldn’t be long before it quelled my nausea.

Although displayed on parchment, the note itself looks to be typed on a very old typewriter. Or, at least, one in disrepair. The “s” was out of alignment with the rest of the text.

It read:

Chloris, I know your secrets. You think you will become relevant to humanity again? You and your pretentious lot of god-complex deities? Not when I’m done with you all. Most mortals have forgotten you. When you show up, it’s fodder for shallow entertainment, like adolescent novels and popcorn movies. No one remembers what you’ve done. But I do. And when I broadcast it to the world in easily-consumed, understandable language, you’ll be viewed through the lens of disgust at best…and irrelevant depravity at worst.


No wonder I felt sick!

I left the field of wild mint wanting answers—and reasons.

I decided to consult with Moxie to see if she knew anything. (Truth be told, I thought maybe she sent the letter. I mean, just read her introduction here, when she threatened to tell on us all!)—but after reading the anonymous note, she was genuinely flummoxed.

Then, she became visibly concerned.

This unwelcome threat—in light of the sabotage of Hephaestus’ forge order by persons unknown (aluminum instead of titanium? That’s just plain evil) and the break-in at Zeus’ office—something was definitely afoot.

Moxie, more humanly “street smart” than I, relayed that mortals call this act “doxxing” and explained its purpose, further confirming the contents of the note.

I couldn’t believe this!

Doxxing…me? Goddess of Flowers and Spring?

Goddess Hera, help me, but I’m such a ridiculous candidate for doxxing.

Seriously, I can’t wrap my head around it—especially considering the deeds of my fellow gods and goddesses…


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