Why do I address you like that, or speak like this--with such, eh, effervescence? I can see you're already wondering. I suppose you ought to. Oh, my, you've lots to learn. The gods, the gods, the gods.
Who are we? What are we? What are we like? Well I can speak only for myself on this one, my name is Dionysus, I am--well--a god, you know this, and what am I like? Well, my gal, I'm downright outrageous if I do say so myself--and I do say so myself.
I can tell by your face, you're confused--still. At this point, I guess all I can say is that you really are quite heavy in your disposition. Not in physical weight, I don't mean, but in attitude, emotional posture, you know--that sort of thing. You have the look of someone who's lived in Glome all their life? What's that--you have lived in Glome all your--you're the queen of Glome? Well that explains it. I'm afraid I've quite lost track of things recently. I apologize. There was a downright outrageous festival taking place across the sea and I was a wee bit--ahem--occupied.
Well, all that aside. I've heard your complaint, though I got there late. Again, I must say, quite heavy in disposition. You've really taken all of this too seriously. I got the report from the other gods and goddesses. You stabbed your own arm? What sort of thing is that? Who in the world ever thought of doing that? Apparently it was for love, too. That's what the twins said, you know, Artemis and Apollo. Love? Love doesn't make you stab your own arm. Love tastes like sweet wine, and is offered that way, too. The way we saw it, or I did in all my downright outrageousness, was that you really put our friend and your sister Psyche in an odd place. I guess, darling, it looked a lot like manipulation. Not love. But what do I know? I was attending to the festivities across the sea.
But here--I suppose you're waiting some sort of response beyond my personal opinion on your relationships and their disfunction. Why do you humans feel this need to be judged? So heavy and dark. Goodness me. Well I guess I'll say this. I don't quite have a judgement for you. I hope I don't disappoint you. I don't quite feel like I've got much to judge on, seeing as I'm riding vino-wave right now. But maybe that's how it should be! So okay, here's my judgement: you and Psyche need to make amends by throwing a huge festival in Glome--and get this!--in my name. Enough of this Ungit business, what an ugly name (sorry, darling!). Let the wine flow through Glomey-Glome! Here's to Orual and Psyche and--ahem, Dionysus!
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