Leda and the Swan

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He does not speak, only hisses beneath the battering of great white wings like thunder and the dreadful slap of hunger against her bare thighs. Later, <<link 'LEDA'>><<notify 3s>>''Leda'' unlocked in ''Dramatis Personae''<</notify>><<set $leda to 1>><</link>> will correct herself, staring into a still pool that shows her an unrecognisable woman: it was not hunger that held her down in the reeds and raked her into stillness that day. Hunger is desire sharpened by need. The tang of salt stings sharp on her lips when she looks into the stranger reflection's eyes and names it a bone scraped clean with //want//. Her voice is a bite wrapped in a whisper. Hushed by her own rage, Leda //remembers//. <div class="choice"> <<link "It is spring, and there is an eagle by the riverbank." "spring on the riverbank">><</link>> </div>

<<link '<div id="back"></div>'>><<run Engine.backward()>><</link>><span class="tooltip"> <span class="hover"> <<link "saves">> <<run UI.saves()>> <</link>> <<link "settings">> <<run UI.settings()>> <</link>> <<if tags().includes("menu")>><<link "return" $return>><</link>><<else>><<link "menu" "menu">><</link>><</if>> <<link "restart">> <<run UI.restart()>> <</link>> </span> <span class="delta"><<link "∆">><</link>></span> </span>

<<link '<div id="codex"><h1>Codex</h1></div>'>><<run Dialog.setup("Codex");Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Codex").processText());Dialog.open();>><</link>> <<link '<div id="character"><h1>Dramatis Personae</h1></div>'>><<run Dialog.setup("Dramatis Personae");Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Dramatis Personae").processText());Dialog.open();>><</link>> <<link '<div id="credits"><h1>Credits</h1></div>'>><<run Dialog.setup("Credits");Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Credits").processText());Dialog.open();>><</link>>

<<message '<b>Content Warnings</b>'>><b>//Leda and the Swan// contains discussion of heavy themes that may be inappropriate or unsuitable for some readers, including: sexual assault, pregnancy/childbirth, and mild body horror/blood.</b> Player discretion is advised. Please take care of yourself before, during, and after the playing of this game.<</message>><<if $kallisti is 1>> <b>τῇ καλλίστῃ</b> - <i>tē(i) kallistē(i)</i>, Ancient Greek; //trans.// "for the most beautiful". The inscription on the golden apple thrown by Eris, Goddess of Discord, which led to the Trojan War. Screenshotted, an example of evidence.<</if>><<if $parados is 1>> <b>πάροδος</b> - //parados//, Ancient Greek; "the first whole utterance of a chorus" in Ancient Greek theatre. In tragedy, the beginning. In comedy, the climactic moment. In life, a farce.<</if>><<if $telos is 1>> <b>τέλος</b> - <i>télos</i>, Ancient Greek; //trans.// "end; purpose; goal". Aristotle's principle of the final cause of a natural organ or entity, or of a work of human art. Can be named fate. Intentional, and inherent. Acutalization. What one was made for.<</if>><<if $exodos is 1>> <b>ἔξοδος</b> - //éxodos//, Ancient Greek; //trans.// "departure, leaving; death (lit.)"; in Ancient Greek tragedy, the final chant sung by the chorus to reflect the onstage fate. Lyrical. Costs Charon's fare—a penny for thought, given inflation.<</if>>

<<set $kallisti to 0>> <<set $telos to 0>> <<set $leda to 0>> <<set $zeus to 0>> <<set $earth to 0>> <<set $parados to 0>> <<set $exodos to 0>>

Written and developed by <a href="https://lapinlunaire-games.itch.io">LapinLunaireGames</a>. This is dedicated to every Leda I know, and all the ones that I do not. * UI template by <a href="https://nyehilismwriting.tumblr.com/">nyehilism</a> * Chapel's excellent <a href="https://twinelab.net/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2/#/?id=chapel39s-custom-macro-collection-v290">Custom Macro Collection</a> * Art assets from <a href="https://www.canva.com/">Canva</a> * Artemis and Apollo theme palettes inspired by Gail Potocki's "Leda", 2015

<<if $leda is 1>><center><h2>Leda</h2></center> - Leda Thestias, Queen of Sparta - beloved by the gods - J. Doe - <s>confused</s> - Of Age <</if>><hr><<if $zeus is 1>> <center><h2>Zeus</h2></center> - Bearer of Aegis - mistake maker - Skyfather - a pleasant friend, devoted to family - Youth with a Bright Future <hr><</if>><<if $earth is 1>> <center><h2>The Earth</h2></center> - They Who Go Nameless - Relationship to Plaintiff: XXXX - cowed for wrath - Wishful, Hurting Heart - Memory <hr><</if>>

<<if Save.autosave.ok() and Save.autosave.has()>><<link "Resume">><<script>>Save.autosave.load()<</script>><</link>><</if>> <<link "Begin" "cw">><</link>> <<link "Remember">><<run UI.saves()>><</link>> <<link "Settings">><<run UI.settings()>><</link>>

<div style="width:100%;text-align:center;padding-top:5vh;">//Leda and the Swan// contains discussion of heavy themes that may be inappropriate or unsuitable for some readers, including: <b>sexual assault, pregnancy/childbirth, and mild body horror/blood</b>. Player discretion is advised. Please take care of yourself before, during, and after the playing of this game. This warning can be viewed at any time in the <b>CODEX</b> through the menu at the upper right (∆). If you do not feel comfortable continuing, please exit now. <<link "I understand and want to continue." "ti kallisti">><</link>></div>

<div style="width:100%;text-align:center;padding-top:24vh;"><span class='greek'><<link 'τῇ καλλίστῃ' 'chorus one'>><<notify 3s>>''τῇ καλλίστῃ'' unlocked in ''Codex''<</notify>><<set $kallisti to 1>><</link>></span> <p><span class="sub">Before the broken wall, the burning roof and tower, and the golden apple's war, there was a queen, an eagle, and a swan. There was only one bird.</span></p></div>

The mud dries beneath her fingernails, risen scars of the furrows she carved into soggy, turned earth. The force of a god’s //want// shakes down almond blossoms and green seed pods from the trees swaying above; they sink into the dirt and take water from Leda’s blood, spilled by claw and bill and her own teeth. Because it has drunk of her blood and knows the soreness that will set in her like cold into winter, the <<link "EARTH">><<set $earth to 1>><<notify 3s>>''The Earth'' unlocked in ''Dramatis Personae''<</notify>><</link>> swallows her screams. Later, when she cannot bear the sight of pearls or white plumes, Leda will wonder if this was a garnish of cruelty or kindness. She is her father's daughter, but the earth was a mother first. The beating of wings—white and soft until they strike—becomes a god’s voice, something to make her spine drip ice and sour spasms as it chants above her, //womb womb womb//. <span class='choice'><<link "It is the sound of someone else's pulse in her body, of thunder in her skull." 'body'>><</link>></span>

Even her rage, when it rises from the unholy remains of her bleeding sorrow and sacred pain, does not ask why. Leda has been beautiful all her life, called and coveted as swan-necked, night-haired, starry-eyed, //sublime//—but Leda is mortal and a god’s sublimity is selfish. The heavy thunder on her back does not care that the red swell of her lips is raw and smells of slaughter, only that it is slick. (Perhaps it does care that her lips are red and swollen, and her mouth finely shaped, and that her eyes glitter like gems in a smooth face framed by coils of unbound night, but that is another matter altogether.) The god twines his neck around Leda’s—//how graceful is the daughter of Thestius! she who walks with a most pleasing shape in the orchards//—and pins her staggering breast to his with the jagged black hook of his bill, pinching a florid heart into her flesh. It reflects the spade that kissed it there for a moment, before Leda jerks and the thing that is neither a man nor a swan //writhes//, and the white-hot shudder of a <<link 'GOD'>><<set $zeus to 1>><<notify 3s>>''Zeus'' unlocked in ''Dramatis Personae''<</notify>><</link>> dissolves into a blooming garden beneath her skin. Between the two of them—god in a stolen form, glorious and ravishing; girl (//woman//, cries a ragged voice, but for all the letters the word adds they are still papery, no defence to speak of), form stolen from her, bloodied and wild-eyed and ravished—who is the more monstrous? <span class='choice'><<link "//Monstrosity// has its roots in showing. It is the evidence—and the question." "Aftermath">><</link>></span>

After her husband is asleep, Leda will examine herself in the mirror with dry eyes, fingers probing the cracks where swanlike fury seeps out in thick, searing beads. She has been bathed and bound and brushed until she shines like a jewel, but all the perfumed oil in the world cannot cleanse the scent that churns in the pit of her stomach and at the back of her throat. Leda closes her eyes and throws one arm up, pressing herself back into a bed that will never be as soft as kick-frothed mud. The storm overhead rains in peaceful mockery. Her arm slices down through the air, silent as a swallowed scream, and the pillows burst open, sagging as they spill. The feathers that drift down slowly through the air are plucked from Corinthian geese, but they are white and beautiful and that is all Leda needs. Her fingertips bleed where the nails have broken too short and shredded to be filed smooth. It is not queenly to bare one's teeth, so Leda smiles with her red, finely shaped mouth, and pretends that the low twinge she feels came from her heaving chest instead. <span class="choice"><<link "Time is of little concern to those above mor(t)ality." "volta">><</link>></span>

<div style="width:100%;text-align:center;padding-top:24vh;"><span class='greek'><<link'πάροδος' 'burning spring'>><<notify 3s>>''πάροδος'' unlocked in ''Codex''<</notify>><<set $parados to 1>><</link>></span> <p><span class="sub">//So mastered by the brute blood of the air, Did she put on his knowledge with his power Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?// <small>“Leda and the Swan”, W. B. Yeats</small></span></p></div>

When the copse of almond trees by the river begins to bloom over bitter-barked saplings, Leda seals her windows and has her maids burn orangewood from sunrise to sundown. The smoke raises sweat on her brow and the tight swell of her belly, but the sting is nothing compared to what ripples from Leda’s scars and the memory of steady wings thundering against her back and skull, driving into her without mercy. //Womb womb womb!// sings the chorus, with the enunciation of festival drums. //Hail, O Skyfather, most devoted Thunderer and Striker of Fate! Tender-hearted daughter of Pleuron, prepare your beauty to bear the Bearer! In annals your smile will radiate!// Her husband remembers the crown woven into her hair on their wedding day, and brings a crystal vase of the same delicate white flowers that drip sugar-sweet nectar down their thin stems. Leda gives him a grateful hand to kiss. After he leaves, she is not surprised when the smashing of crystal on the floor sounds instead like an eagle’s cry. Mortal vanity may be prayer for divine wrath, but the gods know no such hamartia. <span class='choice'><<link 'Gods may not answer to time, but they understand its power.' 'red-lipped leda'>><</link>></span>

Red-lipped Leda squints through the smoke and curls her toes to ward off the remembered ache in her beautiful body as it begins. There is no earth now to swallow her screams, and instead they bounce through the cracks in the shutters like a declaration of war. She hopes they reach beyond the peaks of the mountain. She hopes they //ring//. She hopes, through the blood and the wet glimpses of immortality ripping her in half and the shrieks that tear her throat raw, until the shivering chill in her chest overwhelms the thick, bittersweet scent of orangewood smoke and <<linkappend "Leda begins to fear." t8n>> Thunder cleaves the skies and Leda does not die. She does not think this is a kindness. She knows it is. The nature of things cannot change because one wants it to. Not unless one is a god. The midwife settles the eggs between Leda’s split legs. She does not object, and observes instead how they gleam, smooth nacre shells still divine beneath a sheen of mortal blood. They are beautiful things, tempting to the eye and sore to the heart. The reverence they require bends Leda’s will even as it sours in her mouth. “Fetch me mud,” Leda says suddenly. “From the riverbank, by the almond trees.” <span class='choice'><<link "Her words battle the rain for silence." "scorch">><</link>></span><</linkappend>>

The maids stare at her, wide-eyed, but only for an instant before they jump to obey—there is something wild about their queen which always awakens with the crash of storms. She is //always// untouchable, save for when the clouds boom louder than the rain pouring from them, and then she becomes //unspeakable//. Almost fierce enough to repulse the inevitable. Such is mortal nature. Leda’s gentle, scream-split lips part again, her dark brows angling down like eagles diving, and the maids begin to rush down to the riverbank, but the world shudders and blazes white-hot in <<linkappend "utter silence.">> An instant later, the room quakes under a crash of thunder so deafening it rattles the teeth. If there are screams, they are muted by the graceful and glorious crush of a swan’s wings. When the world fades back to steady candlelit grey, the maids slowly unclutch each other to find Leda—//O sweet Leda of Aetolia, whose beauty crowns Sparta like stars in the night sky, has saved a swan from death in an eagle’s talons! Look now, how the gods will grant her tender heart a boon, how the god’s will is a boon//—staring silently through the shattered shutters at the riverbank. <span class='choice'><<link "What is there to do but follow, in disbelief or faith?" "shroud">><</link>></span><</linkappend>>

The almond trees which swayed so gently over a monstrous deed are silver with rain, the saplings beneath untouched. The river, swollen with torrential rain, drowns out the crickets as easily as it did her struggle. The earth, which had so solemnly given itself to her to take the clawing of a god as it passed through mortal fingers, which had licked her blood like mending a wound, is scorched, seething with embers. A handprint holds its shape in clay for a heartbeat before crumbling along with the fallen petals it held in its palm. Useless sacrifices for a moment of mortal comfort lift into ash and spin into the river’s roar. <<nobr>>Beautiful Leda, <span id="beloved"><<link "beloved by the gods">><<replace "#beloved">>beloved by the gods, does not say a word as a tear spills over the edge of her starry eye. <br><br>Between her knees, the slick divinity protecting her children begins to crack. Such is the machination of fate. <br><br>The most beautiful woman in Greece draws breath and wails—it is a sound wrenched directly from the heart, one that requires shuddering and total abandon. Her mother draws her to the unbroken skin of a breast bitten bloody by something neither swan nor man. <br><br>Outside the window of Leda Thestias, Fixation of Fate and Noble Bearer of Gods’ Desire, the calm red eye of the storm turns away. His desire is sated, unsharp, and he has no hunger for this. <br><br><span class='greek'> <center><<link "τέλος" "exodos">> <<set $telos to 1>><<set $exodos to 1>><<notify 3s>>''τέλος'' and ''ἔξοδος'' unlocked in ''Codex''<</notify>> <</link>></center></span> <</replace>><</link>>, does not say a word as a tear spills over the edge of her starry eye. </span><</nobr>>

<center><span class='greek' style="text-shadow:2px 1px 8px var(--ichor)">ἔξοδος</span> //éxodos//, Ancient Greek; //trans.// "departure, leaving; death (lit.)"; in Ancient Greek tragedy, the final chant sung by the chorus to reflect the onstage fate. Lyrical. Costs Charon's fare—a penny per thought, given inflation. In life, the greatest and only comfort, or the cruelest and most abundant. <<linkappend "A dissection." t8n>> <<fadein 6s>>''Thank you for reading.'' ∆ <<link "BEGIN ANEW">><<run UI.restart()>><</link>> ∆ This is dedicated to every Leda I know, and all the ones that I do not.<</fadein>><</linkappend>> <span class='aegis'><img src="images/aegis2.png"></span> </center>