Cronus stood silent at the foot of his sylvan
bed. He held an object in his hand, gazed at it in deep thought.
The mirror of Venus!
He had taken it from the bed where Demo lay. Slowly Cronus
lowered the mirrored, glanced at the boy. Demo stirred, looked
with tired eyes at his visitor.
"I know this one from long ago. I see, yet I know not the face,
nor the name. Is this your mother, boy?"
"No, sire, this is the face of another, the face of one you
once loved. The face of one you have condemned to misery. This
is the face of your granddaughter, Venus, disfigured by the
Curse of Cronus."
Cronus' eyes widened, and he glanced once more at the mirror.
"I shall take this with me. Sleep, boy, this night I give you
rest."
Head bowed, he turned and walked away, fading into the night.
Demo slept.
He woke late, the sun high in the sky. Even then might he have
slept, except for the sound of the sparrows.
They hopped excitedly around an object gleaming on the forest
floor. He rose, walked to it, and they took wing in fright.
The mirror of Venus. Cronus had dropped it there before he
left. Strange. He had been so moved by the aged image therein.
Demo shook his head, picked up the mirror.
In shock, he almost let it fall.
The beauty of Venus, radiant and young, once more graced its
surface.
Eyes wide he glanced at the hand holding the mirror. The
gnarled fingers, wrinkled and old, were no more. The strong
hands of youth now held the mirror.
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