My name is Cassandra, and you probably don’t believe that either.
Apollo cursed me to know the future and always be thought a liar. I predicted the fall of my city, and my own murder. I was laughed at.
As I died, alone, my soul walked to Olympus, where I found Apollo on his golden chariot.
“You will be forgotten,” I said. “Your believers will dwindle, your power will fade, and you will be nothing but a voice on the wind. People will sell trinkets where your temples once stood.”
He laughed at me, too. “That will never happen.”
This is actually one from the original 30, but there’s a story going up next week which is related, and I want to link them. So you get a bonus!