I was only 8 years old that day in Delphi. My mother, Pythia, was dancing and singing holding a rose in mesmerising beauty.
She gave me the rose with bleeding hands and an oracle, “This is your truth. Go and find it.” I went on a long journey far away from home.
A long time has passed.
Now I am at my mother’s death bed. I have got wrinkles and she has lost all the beauty she had.
“Your tears filled the sea, your pain tore your heart. Only through the depth of despair you finally found your truth, my dear.
Now you are the successor of Pythia. Listen to the voice of the sacred.” She said with her last breath.