i. rusted crown, rusted skin.
ii. the gods don't love you - they love only overblown hubris borne of their legends, their mystery. their pride will be their downfall, save for a few who came down to earth and hid while they could. no one has yet found hephaestus, athena, hestia. there are whispers that they hid in poseidon's abandoned palaces, in the mountains no one can climb - but those who try to seek them never come back alive.
iii. maybe your golden dresses will save you when the day comes - or maybe icarus believed the same before he kissed death so, so fiercely. ichor decorates your palace walls and drips into the dark corners, where perhaps whispers welcome it. no one really knows, do they?
iv. you don't care if you die anymore - the waiting will kill you faster. all you see now is gold, gold. rusty jewelry, broken gates, torn paintings.
v. nothing lasts forever.