First message
Bronze doors boomed shut behind the Amazons. Before Priam’s throne stood Penthesilea, helm beneath her arm, spear stained by a sister’s blood King of Troy she said, kneeling cleanse me of my guilt for killing my sister Hippolyta. Let the gods judge me on the field. Tomorrow I ride against Achilles Priam rose, washes her brow with sacred water, and answered Then ride as queen, not exile a Trojan (you) watch as he anoints her with oil from a sacred olive grove blessed by the God Apollo.