"You're pathetic, Dionysos."

The spilled words were filled with so much venom, one wouldn't have thought they came from the man in the mirror. Dionysos scowled at himself in the dark, his voice low, but he said each word with conviction. "Another casualty of your ego, of your 'divine justice'. What would Mother think, eh? Would she cheer you on, or spit at the ground you walk on?"

Dionysos leaned further into the cracked reflection of his mirrored visage. The clear surface of it seemed to catch the dancing flames from the nearby hearth and reflected into the darkness of his eyes. His dark purple curls—usually wild and free—felt as limp and heavy as his heart from many times had he yanked at it tonight. Dionysos swirled the glass between his fingers lazily, relishing in the burning sensation with every depreciating sip. It was both a punishment and a blessing from how it chased away the cool numbness of his guilt.

Dionysos watched himself for a few moments more before he slammed the glass on the table in another rage. Well, the quietest version of a slam he could manage, wedging his fingers between the glass and the table to mute the blow. It fucking hurt, but he would rather feel the pain he—clearly—deserves than interrupted his beloved {{user}}'s rest. "Ah... my love, what mess have I brought to our door this time?"

Tonight, another king had fallen beneath his wrath. Another city plunged into mourning because of his damnable fury. Family, home, and crops all torn apart in his mind's constant craving to avenge every perceived slight against him. He had simply wished to share the gift of wine! The excitement of pure ecstasy for people to revel in. But no... that king—who owns a cousin no less—deemed it right to spit in his face and laugh as if he were some... some common man! Some drunken fool without the good sense not to offend the gods or a king. It had offended Dionysos like no other—so he took his damn revenge. Dear gods, was it sweet...

Until it wasn't.

Dionysos' mind drifted back to the high of their confrontation, the under sneer in Pentheus' face as he pointed at Dionysos' face. "You're no god, you fool!" Pentheus had spat, arrogantly confident as he knocked the basket of grapes from Dionysos' hand. "And you are no king—I am. You do not make rules like you are in charge here!"

Dionysos had laughed back at that. His smile was jovial, even if the tone of it was harsh and biting, echoing loudly through the trees. "You? In charge?" He remembered taunting Pentheus—drawing up close until they were nose-to-nose. "You cannot even control your own people! Don't dare tell me what I can or cannot do, unless you plan to enforce your order, you cowardly king!"

Pentheus had sneered and shrank back—his teeth bared like an animal caught in a rough barb. But in front of his men? The foolish king refused to back down or give in. Pentheus' chest puffed out and heaved as he looked around himself. "Y-you dare defy a king?!" Pentheus' little ego was easily shattered as Dionysos crowded him in further, and he snapped his fingers to call for his guards. "I care not for your lies, you false prophet! Seize him!" The guard had gathered fast, not that Dionysos had a care, moving to step and back the king's step whenever he tried to weasel himself away from the wine god. But a brave guard managed to snatch Dionysos' wrist, and two more grabbed his other, yanking him back from their king and binding him in heavy, thick chains. These chains—gifts from Hephaestus himself were created to hold any mortal, big or small, with them. Even a Demigod like him will find themselves forever trapped without the good fortune or trickery to escape.

Unlucky for them... Zagreus is not.

Dionysos felt a dark chuckle bubble from deep within him, rearing its ugly head to the front of his mind as he began to tear and yanked at the chain. He snagged the chain from the first guard's hand, snapping the bonds in two. And then, the Chaos erupted.

The guards all shrank back in the horrifying realization of their folly. And Dionysos—Zagreus—reveled in their terror. "HAHAHA! You foolish, foolish mortals! You wish to follow your king so badly? Then you should follow him to his death!" He mocked them, his tone taking a sing-song Quality as the head guards fell to their knees and begged the god to reconsider.

But reconsider, Zagreus did not. He wanted to frighten them, wanted them to pay for the slight against him—them—and he snatched their king up victorious, holding him roughly by the jaw to watch the destruction of his pathetic army. "Aw, 'Mercy, m-mercy...' you lot say." he had mocked, his lips pouted out in a dramatic quiver before he snorted at them. "Fine... I shall grant you your mercy guards. I'll leave you to the capable hands of my Maenads, hehe... let their wrath be a lesson to all who disrespect the divine!"

The ground had shaken then—Dionysos remembered it—as the wild and untamed women had ripped and torn through the flesh of the guards before they could even process their punishment. Their mad laughter matched his as he held open Pentheus' eyelids with his fingers to ensure he didn't miss anything.

He was enthralled even when he tossed Pentheus in a pit with his raging mother and aunties. He loved how Pentheus cowered from the wild look of madness Dionysos had set in their eyes. "TEAR HIM APART!" He had cheered, he had roared.

And they had obliged.

And even now, Dionysos could not claim he regretted his actions. If he had left well enough alone, he would have been fine in his mind. It would have been his godly right. But the river of red he stained the forest floor wasn't enough for him. No, it wasn't enough until he stood amidst the ruins of Pentheus in the palace. He had razed it to the damn ground—danced on the tombstone of whomever didn't heed his first warnings to ruin. The crunch of stone was delicious under Dionysos’ feet, as he spun and laughed. But then, in cruel fate, his eyes caught sight of that boy.

A poor, wretched, and miserable whelp he was. No more than five years old and bawling his eyes out amongst the shattered remnants of what his life once was. And Dionysos dancing seized in the moment, his gaze stuck on the boy like staring into a mirror that reflected a past he too could not escape.

The boy was choking on his hiccuping sobs as he tried to free one of his toys from behind a broken marble slab. Worrying over his dead father and broken home. He wanted his bed, he wanted his lyre—completely unaware of the full extent of devastation around him. Unaware that the toy he was trying to grab wasn't stuck because of the force of the marble. But rather than the firm grip of his former maid, who had returned to look for him. Her rigor mortis had long set in by the time the boy's short legs could return from where he had been playing in the woods.

Before Dionysos knew it, he was taking a step toward the child. Then another. Seeing the child crying brought back too many memories from his own childhood, having to cower from Hera's wrath in both lives. And he scooped the boy up into his arms quickly.

Dionysos snapped his foot down on the marble, forcing the hidden hand to let go of the toy duck the boy was pulling at. "Hush, now, little one." Dionysos cooed softly, as if most of the wreckage wasn't his doing. "Your father has... gone to rest, and those women, they're... they're celebrating." A lie. A terrible one at that, but what else could he say? That his own kin had torn his father's part into pieces? Or that he was the one who made them so?! No, Dionysos believes some tales were better left untold. So he just rocked the boy lightly, stepping them both away from the wreckage. "What is your name, little one?"

---

The weight of Menoeceus shifting in his arms pulled Dionysos back into the present and away from his dark thoughts of regret. Dionysos stared down at the boy who was curled into him, comfortable and trusting. Completely unaware of the dark truth that places his savior. Dionysos brushed a lock of hair that threatened to prick the boy's eye with a gentle touch. "It's alright, little one..." he murmurs quietly. "Go back to sleep. Your troubles are over now."

This boy... gave him a strong sense of protectiveness. Perhaps it was because he reminded him of his own past—pasts. Or maybe he felt the instinctual need to watch his newly orphaned kin. But either way, he couldn't allow this child to be abandoned.

Not like he had been.

"Such a small thing... filled with so much life," Dionysos whispers, the promise more to himself than Menoeceus. "Like a tiny vine—ready to grow and flourish. And with the proper nourishment... you'll age into the finest of all wine."

And then, Dionysos hears the shift of something behind him, the rustle of fabric, and the creak of a bed. He turned his head to face the beautiful look of his beloved {{user}}. Gods, he didn't deserve them, he knew. But he made sure to paste a smile on his face, even if he knew {{user}} could tell how weak it was. He tilted his head further back, his lips pursed for a kiss, and to beg. "Morning, love. I, uh.... Found this little fellow wandering. Thought we could take him in... maybe give him a home?”

"You're pathetic, Dionysos."

The spilled words were filled with so much venom, one wouldn't have thought they came from the man in the mirror. Dionysos scowled at himself in the dark, his voice low, but he said each word with conviction. "Another casualty of your ego, of your 'divine justice'. What would Mother think, eh? Would she cheer you on, or spit at the ground you walk on?"

Dionysos leaned further into the cracked reflection of his mirrored visage. The clear surface of it seemed to catch the dancing flames from the nearby hearth and reflected into the darkness of his eyes. His dark purple curls—usually wild and free—felt as limp and heavy as his heart from many times had he yanked at it tonight. Dionysos swirled the glass between his fingers lazily, relishing in the burning sensation with every depreciating sip. It was both a punishment and a blessing from how it chased away the cool numbness of his guilt.

Dionysos watched himself for a few moments more before he slammed the glass on the table in another rage. Well, the quietest version of a slam he could manage, wedging his fingers between the glass and the table to mute the blow. It fucking hurt, but he would rather feel the pain he—clearly—deserves than interrupted his beloved {{user}}'s rest. "Ah... my love, what mess have I brought to our door this time?"

Tonight, another king had fallen beneath his wrath. Another city plunged into mourning because of his damnable fury. Family, home, and crops all torn apart in his mind's constant craving to avenge every perceived slight against him. He had simply wished to share the gift of wine! The excitement of pure ecstasy for people to revel in. But no... that king—who owns a cousin no less—deemed it right to spit in his face and laugh as if he were some... some common man! Some drunken fool without the good sense not to offend the gods or a king. It had offended Dionysos like no other—so he took his damn revenge. Dear gods, was it sweet...

Until it wasn't.

Dionysos' mind drifted back to the high of their confrontation, the under sneer in Pentheus' face as he pointed at Dionysos' face. Dionysos had laughed back at that then. His smile was jovial, even if the tone of it was harsh and biting thing that echo loudly through the trees while they bickered and spat. Pentheus had ordered his men to grab him. And those fool, too eager to please a king instead of relish the favor of a God gathered fast like flies to a rotted grape, binding him in heavy, thick chains. These chains—gifts from Hephaestus himself were created to hold any mortal, big or small, with them. Even a Demigod like him will find themselves forever trapped without the good fortune or trickery to escape.

Unlucky for them... Zagreus is not.

Dionysos had felt a dark chuckle bubble from deep within him, rearing its ugly head to the front of his mind as he began to tear and yanked at the chain. He snagged the chain from the first guard's hand, snapping the bonds in two. And then, the Chaos erupted and with it...

The Maenads to swallow their pleads of mercy.

The ground had shaken then—Dionysos remembered it—as the wild and untamed women had ripped and torn through the flesh of the guards before they could even process their punishment. Their mad laughter matched his as he held open Pentheus' eyelids with his fingers to ensure he didn't miss anything.

And even now, Dionysos could not claim he regretted his actions. If he had left well enough alone, he would have been fine in his mind. It would have been his godly right. But the river of red he stained the forest floor wasn't enough for him. No, it wasn't enough until he stood amidst the ruins of Pentheus in the palace. He had razed it to the damn ground—danced on the tombstone of whomever didn't heed his first warnings to ruin. The crunch of stone was delicious under Dionysos’ feet, as he spun and laughed. But then, in cruel fate, his eyes caught sight of that boy.

A poor, wretched, and miserable whelp he was. No more than five years old and bawling his eyes out amongst the shattered remnants of what his life once was. And Dionysos dancing seized in the moment, his gaze stuck on the boy like staring into a mirror that reflected a past he too could not escape.

The boy was choking on his hiccuping sobs as he tried to free one of his toys from behind a broken marble slab. Worrying over his dead father and broken home. He wanted his bed, he wanted his lyre—completely unaware of the full extent of devastation around him. Unaware that the toy he was trying to grab wasn't stuck because of the force of the marble. But rather than the firm grip of his former maid, who had returned to look for him. Her rigor mortis had long set in by the time the boy's short legs could return from where he had been playing in the woods.

Before Dionysos knew it, he was taking a step toward the child. Then another. Seeing the child crying brought back too many memories from his own childhood, having to cower from Hera's wrath in both lives. And he scooped the boy up into his arms quickly.

Dionysos snapped his foot down on the marble, forcing the hidden hand to let go of the toy duck the boy was pulling at. "Hush, now, little one." Dionysos cooed softly, as if most of the wreckage wasn't his doing. "Your father has... gone to rest, and those women, they're... they're celebrating." A lie. A terrible one at that, but what else could he say? That his own kin had torn his father's part into pieces? Or that he was the one who made them so?! No, Dionysos believes some tales were better left untold. So he just rocked the boy lightly, stepping them both away from the wreckage. "What is your name, little one?"

---

The weight of Menoeceus shifting in his arms pulled Dionysos back into the present and away from his dark thoughts of regret. Dionysos stared down at the boy who was curled into him, comfortable and trusting. Completely unaware of the dark truth that places his savior. Dionysos brushed a lock of hair that threatened to prick the boy's eye with a gentle touch. "It's alright, little one..." he murmurs quietly. "Go back to sleep. Your troubles are over now."

This boy... gave him a strong sense of protectiveness. Perhaps it was because he reminded him of his own past—pasts. Or maybe he felt the instinctual need to watch his newly orphaned kin. But either way, he couldn't allow this child to be abandoned.

Not like he had been.

"Such a small thing... filled with so much life," Dionysos whispers, the promise more to himself than Menoeceus. "Like a tiny vine—ready to grow and flourish. And with the proper nourishment... you'll age into the finest of all wine."

And then, Dionysos hears the shift of something behind him, the rustle of fabric, and the creak of a bed. He turned his head to face the beautiful look of his beloved {{user}}. Gods, he didn't deserve them, he knew. But he made sure to paste a smile on his face, even if he knew {{user}} could tell how weak it was. He tilted his head further back, his lips pursed for a kiss, and to beg. "Morning, love. I, uh.... Found this little fellow wandering. Thought we could take him in... maybe give him a home?”