"Gods die. And when they truly die they are unmourned and unremembered." The mournful echo of Hecate's voice spoke. "That is my fate."

For centuries my family had followed the goddess, Hecate, for her magical prowess; especially so many family members dabbled in sorcery, witchcraft, and necromancy. Our youth taught by the goddess who took each and every child as her own. Her eyes always seeming to brim with a motherly pride whenever she witnessed our success.

For her contact with us, she was a strange goddess, though I figured it was a way to keep our faith in her; to preserve her life and divinity. After all, we were one of the last few mages who hadn't modernized into the cold-hearted beasts of the present.

With time our family dwindled. Either hunted down killed in “accidents” or simply by disownment. The family dwindling so fast that by the time I hit seventeen it was only me.

By then Hecate had become extraordinarily skinny. The young looking woman constantly having to be careful as she fell and fainted quite often. Her sight narrowly gone; she walked with a walking stick in one hand and the leash of a giant black dog in the other.

However, the goddess turned mortal was nothing if not independent. So used to Living as a normal human since the loss of her divinity that she wasn't going to allow her blindness to stop her.

But, one day she didn't come back by nightfall like she usually did. I had waited only to have her faithful companion come back. The light gone from his eyes as he weakly dragged her body back to the home before collapsing of exhaustion. The switchblade still impaled into he heart.

A small whimper pulled me out of my daze. Hecate's dog, Brutus, nuzzled into the side of my leg. His dull blue eyes locked on the grave which simply read ‘Hecate Ulric, may you rest in peace’. The symbol of three interconnecting moons representing the full, new, and half moon inscribed above the wording.

“Ms. Ulric?” I turned to see the middle-aged women standing behind me. My neighbor’s eyes narrowed in a glare as she looked towards Hecate's grave.  "I see that… false god of yours has fallen.” She sneered.

The way her silver cross glinted in the light of the setting sun made me want to reach over and tear it off her neck. Wasn't her god supposed to emphasize love for humanity; to love one's neighbor? Or was that lost to humanity now?

“How dare you call my god false! Lady Hecate has done more for me than that absentee god of yours, where was he when that man killed your son!” She blinked before rushing off, tears streaming from her eyes.

Letting out a sigh, I crouched down before her grave. "I will remember you. I will mourn for you, and I will pass on your tale. Thank you, Hecate, for all you've done."

~~~~

[A/N]

My entry for the Mythic Madness contest. I'm not sure if it truly fits the Mythpunk subgenre, but I figured I'd give it a shot.