“Can a mere story be evil?”
-An Oresteia

I love the way Anne breathes new life into the bones of these old works and makes them so irresistible and understandable.
She chooses her words like ghosts
each one haunts you
Like you can still smell the rust of blood from Troy and the curses of unhappy gods still on the wind.
Through the wounds lies
Ambiguity, so grey
So sharp
It could be mistaken for a blade
And you fear neither side is dull as you trace your finger along its edge.