Once upon a time, there was this little thing called the Trojan War. You’re familiar with it, yes?
Before that whole decade-long mess could even get started, the Greeks had to follow Helen across the Aegean Sea to Troy. Unfortunately for them, Agamemnon had angered the goddess Artemis. People are kind of fuzzy on the details of how he offended her. Either he killed a sacred deer, or his troops did. Artemis is the goddess of the hunt, so that’s obviously a no-no. Or he boasted about being a better hunter than Artemis, or his troops did. Also a stupid idea. Anyway, Artemis wasn’t happy, so she sent a contrary wind to the port at Aulis, where the Greeks were preparing to sail from and kept them from leaving for the war.
The only way to get the wind set straight and appease Artemis was for Agamemnon to sacrifice his eldest daughter—me—Iphigenia. So he lied to my mother, Clytemnestra, and told her that I was to marry the great warrior Achilles and that I should come to Aulis at once. My mother bought this lie and we went to Aulis.
Things get muddy.
Some say I find out what’s going to happen to me and beg my father for my life.
Some say I go to the altar unawares and am ambushed at the last second. I don’t even see the dagger that kills me.
Some would like to believe that I go to the altar peacefully, resigned to my fate, a willing sacrifice.
Some think Achilles tries to save me.
Some say Artemis does save me and makes me her high priestess at Tauris.
Some say I am Artemis.
But whatever people say, there is one thing that is true: I go to the altar.
As a bride.
As a sacrifice.
As an act of the gods.
As a woman.
And in order to know what happens, you must come with me. Join me at the altar. Let’s get a little bit Iphy. #daddyissues #thealtar #iphigeniarising #alittlebitiphy