Much further along now

Locked in a tower: She thinks, "I had a life. I was going somewhere. Every day I'd read: plays, poetry, novels. And I practiced my music. I lived a life of expectation. I had my eye on some boys and loved to go dancing. I was princess of the kingdom. And then one day some drunken priest my father was bar-hopping with spewed out some nonsense where his daughter's son would kill him. Dad tried to dress it up to me as some oracle wrenched from the soul of the pithian navel. But I knew priests love to plant these ideas in king's minds. It's as if they live to get fathers to sacrifice their daughters. Let me tell you about my friend Iphegenia - dead on a mountain so her father could get better gas mileage. I ask where will it end? Old men live in fear and are easily manipulated. What did Laius think? That Oedipus, a little infant, would stab him with a rattle? My parents and their friends creep me out. Here I am in a tower, reading, bored, and one day I look up and there's Zeus. I just knew it was him, even though he was as slight as a beam of light, all golden, and it seemed that gravity couldn't hold him. He moved swiftly and covered me with warmth. I was in heaven. But Zeus: he never writes, he never calls. What is he up to? I need him now because dad suspects. I'm sure of it. I'm five months along. I'm over eating and having mood swings. Yesterday I tore up a bunch of books and made a large paper mache glider to fly off the top of the tower. What was I thinking? I'd have broke my neck. More and more I ask why, why can't we talk; why can't we talk and dad could be a grandfather to the boy? Is talking too much? Must we be subject to the drunken mouthings of oracular nitwits? "