And yet, Apogonos had always known some part of him was not right, was off somehow. In his heart of hearts he was sure he did not want to grow from boyhood to manhood, and would much rather cast off maleness entirely and claim a woman’s body. But he would have violently denied any such accusation, said they were wrong, he was a boy and would be a man.
For Apogonos had been struck at birth by the poisoned shaft of Ares, and drawn into a whirlpool of male and female.
The poison had seeped into his blood, lay mostly dormant for ten years, but was slowly coming to a boil.
The poison had always whispered in Apogonos’ ear, telling him that something was amis, and on his tenth birthday Apogonos dreamed: