Anyway, here’s what I think happened. Let’s start with the rape. You, lady, were raped in a cave: thus my birth. You left me there to die, which, fair enough. Harsh, but fair. No judgement; in your place I’d probably do the same.
But, okay, so my father the rapist saves me, the baby, and whisks me off. Not to live with him, no, naturally not, if he took in the child of every rape he committed he’d be awash in babies soon enough. But alive, and serving in one of his temples. Not much of a life, but I guess better than the alternative. Again, this is what I figure; it’s happened before.
So fast forward years and you both, husband and wife, come to my temple asking about your barrenness. Now the oracle’s holy, not stupid, and knows the pattern: baby left on the steps, old couple asking questions, there’s some godly irony in there somewhere. She hooks us up, which, how often did I long for parents? Late to the party, but okay.
But she doesn’t tell the whole story, or maybe she’s wrong, and of course neither of you bother to sit down or compare notes, you just rush headlong into the SAME ASSUMPTIONS you always make. Plotting, murder, poison, despair: screw the whole rotten lot of it. I haven’t eaten anything I haven’t made myself since I was ten years old, never drink out of the glass set before me. It’s not the rapist watching over me, just sense: these things have happened before. I don’t know which of you is trying to kill me, and I guess I don’t care. I won’t stick around to find out. Thank you for finding me, you’ll understand if I hope we never meet again.