Creusa
What now? Do I keep silent—hide this shame forever?
Or speak—and strip myself of modesty?
What’s left to lose? My husband betrayed me.
My home is gone. My hope of children—gone.
I thought I could bury the past, hush up my secret,
forget the son I bore in sorrow.

No. By Zeus who rules the stars,
by Athena who guards my rocky home,
by the sacred waters of Triton’s lake—
I will speak. I will tear this weight from my chest.
If I confess, maybe I can breathe again.

(Her voice breaks; tears stream down her face.)

Men and gods—both traitors!
I’ll show them for what they are.
Ungrateful. Faithless to their loves.

(She lifts her arms toward the temple.)

Apollo! You who pluck the seven-stringed lyre,
making dead ox-horns sing—
hear me! I will shout your shame to the sun!

I saw you once—gold flashing in your hair—
while I gathered saffron blooms,
golden flowers blazing in my robe.
You seized my wrist—dragged me to your cave.
I cried for my mother—
but you, a god, forced me into Cypris’ bed of lust.

And from that shame I bore you a son.
I laid him in your cavern,
the place where you broke me.
And what became of him?
Not a cradle. Not a home.
Birds tore him apart.
While you—
you strum your lyre and sing of joy.

(Her voice rises in fury.)

Hear me, son of Leto!
You sit on your golden throne at earth’s center,
giving riddles, giving lies.
You—false bridegroom—
bringing another heir to my husband’s house,
while your own child—mine—
lies dead, his swaddling clothes lost,
his bones picked clean by carrion birds.

Delos hates you now.
Even your laurel turns away—
the tree that shaded your mother
when she bore you in holy pain.

Chorus
So many sorrows—
enough to make every eye weep.

Old Servant
Child… your words strike me like a wave.
I thought I had reached the shore of grief—
but now another storm crashes over me.
You speak of betrayal—and then of worse.
What is this? What charge against Apollo?
What child do you claim?
Where did you leave him?
Tell me everything.

Creusa
Old friend… I’m ashamed to meet your eyes.
But I will speak.

Old Servant
I know how to share a friend’s pain. Speak.

Creusa
Do you know the cave north of Cecrops’ rock—
the one we call the Makrai?

Old Servant
I know it. Pan’s shrine is there. His altar too.

Creusa
That cave was my battlefield.

Old Servant
Battlefield? Gods help me—my tears come before your words.

Creusa
Apollo forced me. Made me his bride in secret.

Old Servant
Was this what I saw—what I suspected?

Creusa
I don’t know. But if you speak truth, I’ll tell you all.

Old Servant
I remember—you mourned in silence then.

Creusa
Yes. That was the time. That was the wound.

Old Servant
And you hid it? Hid your union with the god?

Creusa
I bore a child. Listen to me, old friend.

Old Servant
Where? Who helped you? Or were you alone?

Creusa
Alone. In that cave where he made me his wife.

Old Servant
And the child? Where is he now?

Creusa
Dead. Left for beasts.

Old Servant
Dead? Apollo gave no help?

Creusa
None. My boy is in Hades’ halls.

Old Servant
Who exposed him? Surely not you?

Creusa
I did. Wrapped him in my robe. Left him in the dark.

Old Servant
No one shared your secret?

Creusa
No one. Only misfortune and silence.

Old Servant
How could you leave him there?

Creusa
How? Gods forgive me—I spoke words of pity over him.
But still I left him.

(She collapses, sobbing.)