She who spoke

Meet phoebe

Warning: The following story contains scenes of cruelty and violence. Do not read if you are under 21, if you make no difference between reality and fiction, mythology and everyday life. For everyone else … enjoy!


Written for #CruelJan19 by Tina

Translation Massaged by Aborigen & SnareJunkie – further massaged by Tina


She Who Spoke


The flowing river was the only noticeable noise, and life seemed to have left the fleeting clouds that formed the ground of her homeland: Olympus was strangely calm today. Phoebe stretched and lazily rose before straightening the folds of her black silk toga, then paid a curious attention to her surroundings. No trace of Hermes, Hera or Artemis … Athena perhaps? The young woman frowned an exquisite pout on her gorgeous and freckled face.

“Hehoooo! Aphrodite?”

The melodious appeal remained unanswered, vanishing over the gentle hills of the dwelling of the Gods. If even her sister would not answer … They had parted on one of their eternal quarrels over Phoebe’s legitimacy, her pending divinity: “When it happens, little sister, you’ll know it.” Phoebe had run away in tears, fleeing the table of Gods who, once again, never moved to plead her case.


Aphrodite always answered, even after the worst arguments. Frustration and perplexity filled Phoebe’s heart, yet she took a delicate step in search of her peers.

Two days later, perplexity had given way to disbelief and the young woman still had not met a living soul. It’s probably at this moment that the idea was born.

Climb down.

And why not? The taboo probably no longer held, since there was no one around to uphold it. Phoebe bit her lip, contemplating the consequences … but what did she know of consequences?

With the tip of her foot, Phoebe lightly pierced the thin and fluffy layer of clouds beneath her, then, shyly, dipped down until they ringed her ankle. The forbidden thought alone lit a blush on her cheeks; it carried the rough texture of desire. Heartened by the silence of Olympus, she sat down and softly let her leg further slip in the clouds, up to the level of her thigh. Soon enough, the lower half of her body bathed in the celestial wadding. The young woman took a deep breath made of frustration, hope and her hunger for freedom. She stretched out her arms, reaching for the sky, and let herself fully slide through the clouds.

The fall lasted for a handful of minutes and below, the landscape was rushing forward as fast as her heart seemed to beat. Cities, forests, lakes and rivers snaking to the sea so blue … her toga and golden blond hair swirled happily in the wind, whipping her senses. When her feet crashed upon the earth, they sunk deeply and swept nature away in a manner of welcoming. Intact in the center of the crater so dug, the beauty rose and climbed its slope with a jolly step, following her beating heart.

“Oh, darn…”

Phoebe experienced with wonder the human world and its fresh lands. To the side, the sea, infinite and blue, shimmering satin under the sun. Before her, green hills and a few houses nestled in their care. In the distance, a white tide of strangely shaped roofs and unfamiliar buildings. She laid one foot out of the crater and hastily walked forward, following her curiosity. The light was stronger here and the wind more insistent. Phoebe tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she explored and suddenly heard

A shout.

The young woman glanced down to find its source and swallowed a gasp of surprise. One stride away, a bare-chested man stood, his height barely reaching the level of her hips, waving his arms and swearing at her in a strange language. He was handsome, in the image of the Gods, his chest glistening with sweat; he hesitated to approach her. The heart of the young woman leaped, suddenly filled with gratitude at the revelation of a human in the flesh! She took the single step between them to invite him to what was for her the most sincere manifestation of joy: a dance.

Before the man ever had the chance to turn on his heel, Phoebe leaned forward and gently wrapped his arms in her fingers, as if inviting a child to party and, taking his expression of shock for a invitation, warmly clenched her fists. Instantly, the delicate knuckles of her hands sunk into his limbs like water and snapped his bones with a dry, cracking sound. An agonizing scream burst out of his throat and he frantically tried to jerk himself free from her grip like a trapped animal. Phoebe was surprised at first, then delighted in his enthusiasm, smiled broadly and set him free, letting go off the body which fell dully into the grass. Never leaving his panicked gaze, she gently whispered:

“I am happy to see you as well. You’re so beautiful, so surprising!”

Giving up on her dance and curious to see if she could further communicate with the human, she kneeled, laid the palm of her hands on his hips. Phoebe cheerfully pressed down, repeating the welcoming gesture that already had been so successful. The same magic happened again and beneath her weight: the man’s hips instantaneously gave way, crushed like a pack of berries. His shriek was weaker this time but his incredulous look just as heartwarming. Maybe a sign of politeness. Certainly a welcoming expression. Phoebe felt more confident in being  intimate and, getting on all fours over him, wrapped the man’s face, distorted with pain, in her whole hand and squeezed it, tenderly crushing his skull into grease and giving rise to an embarrassing silence. Between her fingers, the human no longer spoke and the young woman frowned, perplexed. She slowly stood back to her full height. How bizarre. Phoebe gazed at the dead and twisted body, its silence, the warm blood on her hands, then the house some distance away from her.

“I don’t understand.”

While she was heading for the house, Phoebe felt her body grow on its own. Her footsteps deeper, heavier. Her hips wider and her silhouette more imposing in the hot and dry air. The sensation was pleasant, natural, and she paid little attention to the change in perspective. When she arrived and planted her now massive feet in front of the house, the three inhabitants who were huddled on its steps looked up at a giant whose height four times exceeded the white roof of their home. In one deferential motion, these two men and the woman threw themselves at the feet of the imposing divinity, coming to feed her with a novel pride. Phoebe ceremoniously crouched down and softly asked:

“Talk to me.”

After a few moments of silence, one of the men gasped a single word tainted with apprehension:


The giant’s lips narrowed into a sulky pout and she replied:

“I don’t understand.”

In a swift, fluid motion, Phoebe quickly slid her great fingers under the three humans before effortlessly lifting them. Paying no attention to their protests, she girded them in one tight piece between her cupped hands, pressing their doll-like bodies against each other and raised them to the level of her eyes: their faces were as beautiful as that of the man, covered with tears and fury. This, Phoebe understood. The giantess quietly tilted her deep blue eyes over them and sighed in a gracious tone:

“Have no fear: I just want to hear you scream.”

With her right hand, Phoebe timidly pressed her knuckles against the woman’s chest, drawing from her a sudden pant of dread. The three toy bodies suddenly filled with vigor and their limbs madly lashed out in the air. Phoebe smiled and slowly flexed the muscle of her forefinger until she felt the tiny bones of the frail ribcage start to creak and break. The cries of the little person turned shrill, and the giantess understood this panic as a prayer. Her huge thumb came to lay upon the woman’s convulsing belly and gradually sank into her bowels. The inarticulate howls choked, became liquid and, abruptly, silenced. Phoebe simpered with gratitude and quickly dropped the small body to plop at her feet. Having heard all that the woman had to reveal, she gave the two remaining men a loving look, only to realize they were trying to bite and hit her. An amused little laugh came to her lips, and with her freed hand, Phoebe conjured a pair of small, finely crafted ivory scissors in her palm, which she used to snip the stems of Olympus’s fruits.

“Κρίμα! μη”

The cute giant could not ignore what, for her, was an invitation to further explore the language of humans, all made of cries and frailty, of suffering and pain. Their words meant nothing to her, but the bodies wildly fluttering in her hands told her more than every possible expression. In the delicate brushes of her fingers, she arranged the men in her palm so she could see their eyes, then brought the tip of her scissors closer. The sharpened blades paused gingerly on the hem of the first, who helplessly tried to repel her advance with his kicking legs.

“I want to see you.”

Phoebe bit her lower lip in anticipation and gently started to cut away the man’s cloth. A howl of pain burst out of his mouth when one blade cut about his groin, and the toga tinged with red. Heedless, the beauty kept on further cutting and, with one hard snip, tore the garment and the flesh, revealing the man in all his beautiful nakedness. A long smiling slash was carved, stretching from the chest to the exploded right testicle. Fascinated, she hastily left the other man on the roof of the house and knocked him out with a flick to his face before giving her full attention back to the man with the bloody smile.

“I want to feel you.”

The moment brought her sister to mind … She gently pulled on the strap of her toga, releasing her naked breast in the hot wind, then, carefully pinching the head of the man between the pulp of her fingertips, pressed his whole face in her nipple so sensitive, forcing the little man to a restless silence. There, against her bosom, the furious little body whipped her skin with harmless blows and told her of the dire panic she was causing. Phoebe’s body quivered along with him, understood and loved. Her roused hand lowered the scissors to his feet, and she closed her eyes on parted lips. Leaving her cuts to a delightful luck, she began to snip the blades on whatever they would find. First emptiness, then again, and suddenly, something resisting, twitching, immediately followed by an electric jerk against her nipple, drawing her a groan of pleasure. Phoebe chopped, then again, again, higher, her blades finding his calf, then his thigh, then higher, higher still, where his legs met, snipping his soul and his body, escalating to the unison of his terror in melodies of bliss, harder crushing against her the one who illuminated her deep inside.

Phoebe let out a yelp of surprise when the blade suddenly stung her own breast. Her eyes fluttered open, wet with pleasure at what she had done. At her bosom, there was nothing recognizable of the man’s body. Distractedly, she glanced at the roof where the other man knelt, moaning like a child amid the pieces of his brother.

The goddess sighed with pleasure and, with one lively swipe, seized him and pressed his screams where her body demanded them.


It is said that he was the first to see Phoebe for what she was and to name her.

It is said that a thousand were brutally severed and crushed that day, that the world did not know what to do with such savagery.

Before her sister hugged Phoebe and took her away.

Before she became a goddess.

The one whose voice is cruelty.