That was until the birth of sandy haired, green eyed baby mortal Minerva. Truly a creation of the gods that one was, with her determined rare light green eyes, and her sharp tongue, she was loved by all and their was no one who could counter her usually poppy demeanor and intelligent words as she grew. That was accept for her mother. Whose tongue was just as, if not more piercing then minerva's,
and whose words- menacing enough to make the highest ranking commander quaver and bow at a voice wielding such authority. Mother Teresa was her name, and like her daughter Minerva's mother, had the temper of a full grown bear and was different from because like Minerva and unlike the rest of their community, she had creativity.
However unlike Minerva, she would pretend to be like everyone else; for as fierce and bold as the woman may have been, she was fearful that if she ever showed her creativity in public the people would riot, jealous, and try to steal she and her precious daughter's gifts. Every night mother Theresa would argue this point and ever so stubborn Minerva would argue right back prolonging the debate. Like dangers their words would cut one another, leaving wounds forever left untreated.