An Innocent Abomination

The king Minos hated the child because he was just that.

A child.

He had been born an atrocity. The body of a newborn babe with the head of a calf, soft brown that tapered down his shoulders and covered his body and a tail that swished curiously as the child explored the palace.

He was the product of Poseidon's rage. Of Minos’ greed and disrespect to the gods.

He was a monster.

“He’s just a little boy.”

Pasiphaë did not share her husband’s sentiments. She loves the little beast with all her heart. And as much as he hated her for it, she was right.

The child did not cause any more trouble than a regular babe would have. He cried when scared and laughed when happy. He found solace in his mother’s arms and her soft voice as she sang him lullabies each night and told his stories of magic and sorcery.

Minos could not bring himself to think the same.

Rationally, he knew the boy did no harm.

Asterius was not rage, or savagery or malice. No. He was nothing but kindness and curiosity because he was just that. A child. A child who ate like his stomach knew no end, who chased animals on the property and spent his days giggling and running around the palace, hiding from the servants and jumping out with a laughing “boo!” when they come looking for him.

The boy did nothing wrong. But his simple existence reminded Minos of his own faults. His arrogance and stupidity and Poseidon’s hatred for him.

For that, he sent the child away.

It hadn’t been as hard as he thought it would be. To let the world believe a beast roamed the castle. Whisper a few words in a hall late at night and it began before spreading like wildfire.

“The boy was a monster.”

“Born of cruelty and corruption.”

“Tore his mother in half upon his birth.”

“Ate a handmaiden before he was even four years old.

“Has the king himself cowering in fear for his life.”

Soon, all of Crete was full of news and stories of the horrid beast that was the Minotaur, a monstrosity that reigned hell within royal bounds.

All while Asterius sang songs with his mother and stuffed his face with fruits and bread until his eyes turned heavy and it was time for a nap.

Pasiphaë had not realized her husband’s scheming, she was too busy tending to her son to notice. Her heart was so full of love and adoration for the child her keen ears turned deaf as he spoke to the architect Daedalus in secret.

A labyrinth, He ordered. To keep the beast caught. One he can never leave, nor find the end of.

Poor Asterius, the monstrous child didn’t know until it was too late. He was sound asleep in his room, dreaming of the beach and the birds and his mother as he snuggled in his soft bed, only to be woken up from the harsh jostle of the wooden cart he had been stuffed in. All while the rider ignored his cries and led him to the maze. No goodbye, no explanation. No answer as he calls out for his mama while staring up at the night sky for, presumably, the last time he'd ever see it.

He was used to luxury and love and affection. He was used to a soft bed and his mother’s laugh, a kiss on his forehead and a whisper of ‘sweet dreams, Asterius.’

He was not used to the cold stone beneath his bare little feet, nor the scuttle of rats in the shadowy corners as he wandered deeper and deeper into the maze in hopes he’d find somebody.

Anybody.

Anybody at all.

The wish is eventually granted. When he heard voices and footsteps the little one practically raced to them, only to be met with screaming and torches thrusted at his terrified face with the sounds of swords clashing against stone.

The warriors.

Brave men in search of glory and riches who ventured into the labyrinth to slay the beast of Crete, only to find a screaming child who ran deeper and deeper into the shadows.

Most of the warriors died of starvation, some even took their own lives upon accepting that there was no way out of the labyrinth that they so arrogantly charged into.

Some were killed by the child.

Not on purpose, of course. He didnt meant to hurt them. To cause the blood and the screams and the empty eyes of their fallen bodies. He hated it but he was scared when the screaming men attacked him. Raising their swords as he shook his head wildly with tears in his eyes, not yet realizing his horn had punctured the fleshy stomach of the “hero” who had tried to slaughter the little one.

Eventually, he no longer felt bad about slaughtering the humans who entered the Labyrinth. Who called him names and threatened to rip out his horns to keep as trophies. They chose to play the deck while knowing what cards would be dealt. He didn’t pity their arrogance. They were the reason he was here. The reason he was ripped away from his mother without being able to say goodbye and the reason his father built this personal hell to keep him trapped in for the rest of his life.

The minotaur no longer cried when the light left the eyes of the “heroes”, nor did he cry when he thought of Minos’ disgust for him. Instead, he grit his teeth and snarled.

It was all their fault.

Over the years, Asterius' fear and sorrow festered and bubbled into hatred. A bitter rage that fueled the roar in his throat as he charged the warriors who entered his labyrinth and left him with a sick sense of satisfaction as he ripped them to pieces.

Vivid memories of the palace and his mother became distant ripples of a foggy recollection in his dreams. Whenever he was lucky to have dreams, that is.

Often they were nightmares.

Of blades cutting his skin and having his head struck from his body to be mounted for the oh-so-righteous king, the man who raised him, to use as a centerpiece in his great hall.

King Minos. The man who saw him raised in his palace. The man who stole him from his home, his mother, and threw him into this cold, unforgiving, cobblestone hell. The man who lied to the world and said the boy was a terror to be slain before leaving him to the slaughterhouse.

If only he could see me now. Asterius thought. See the monster he forced his wife’s sweet little boy to turn into:

A beast. Not one made by Poseidon's power, but of Minos’ malice.