Espousal of the Minotaur

Excerpt from the Book of Shadows of Sapphire Circe

Dear BoS,
I'm going to just write this in chronological order and not foreshadow anything or... whatever. You are my Journal, Book of Shadows.
I was in Daedalus' magnificent rotating room with the statues of Humility, Hubris, and Humble. I realized I was going to lose the deposit on that scuba tank I had rented, because I was not going back for it in the Minotaur's bath house or fishing hole or whatever that was, not after I released the Minotaur from the "house-arrest" I put on him.
I had the magical Diadem I sought, and found, and proved that it worked, proved that some magic is real. And the price was high. I had regrets I would never outlive in a hundred years.
I prepared to follow the statue pointing the way out of the labyrinth. I heard an ocean wave roll through the pipelines under the floor. The doorways shifted.
There was the vehement Minotaur in the doorway by the statue of Hubris breathing deep heavy sobs. He held out a small urn to me with both hands. A symbol of death maybe? He had followed my trail out of the labyrinth. I had made it easy for him. My throat swelled up to choke me. It would be a relief if he took my head off with those powerful arms. I deserved no less.
He crouched down on all fours. He shouted at me. My phone dutifully translated ancient Greek to English calmly, "Forgive me." He wailed the word again. He crawled naked on his belly toward me, wailing.
He was wrong. I knew I should be the one down on the ground asking his forgiveness for ever coming here and screwing up both our lives.
I knelt down to him and put a hand on the minotaur's snout to stop the lamentation. I didn't know where to begin. But I knew I got us here by objectifying him. I couldn't make that mistake again. I had to listen to him this time.
"I forgive you," was what he needed to hear and what I said, "I value you." I ran out of synonyms quickly. I needed to get to the part where I got to apologize back.
His tear filled eyes looked up into mine. The translating device mocked the sorrow in his voice with an unemotional translation, "I try to sleep. The monsters come. I fear. I know I will die. Maybe no fish. Maybe no water. I die sometime. I cannot imagine being dead. I fear it. What if life is forever? Lonely forever. The monsters come. I cannot understand being alive forever. I am not happy. I am sad. Put the monsters away. Now. Now. Please take me."
I abused him, and he came back to me like this, broken, begging me to take him back. I didn't have the skills. I would only hurt him more if I weren't very careful. I knew I couldn't reject him like this.
I made him stand. He told me, "I am ready to walk the path of Humble."
He knelt down on one knee, took my hand, and asked, "Will you take me as your husband? Will you walk me the path of wisdom? Will you lead me along the path of Humility?"
Wow. Three questions that basically mean the same thing. That was some kind of formal declaration, like legally binding, in his mind at least.
I didn't know what to say. We only met a few hours ago, and I crushed his ego in my quest to get this piece of jewelry on my forehead. It wasn't on purpose. It was an accident. I couldn't accept. At least I couldn't accept the sexual aspects of marriage with him, and the 'forsaking all others' part, not now. We seriously only met a few hours ago. But I couldn't reject him either. He would become enraged or completely suicidal, or both.
I thought of an old country song, giving bad love-life advice.
I told the minotaur, "For one year and a day, I will accept you and lead you as my husband. After that day, you shall be free again, and we will review what we have learned over the year. We will walk together in the sunshine."
He replied what sounded like another formal oath, "You are wiser than I. You are more powerful than I. I trust your wisdom and power. I offer you my loyalty and obedience."
"Stand, husband-for-a-year," I commanded him. Some day I would be able to get through to him the nuances of just how bad I felt about doing this to him. But for now, judging by his beaten puppy-dog manner, it seemed like becoming my slave or whatever was the best outcome he could have hoped.
"Bring the sunshine near," he said, not ordering, not begging, just suggesting happily.
Oh, crap.
It looked like I wasn't going to get the deposit back on that motor boat I rented either. I could just describe my apartment and ask the Diadem of Medea to open a portal and dance this man-beast into the spare room with no international authorities being any the wiser. I should ask him how to find the earbuds I lost last month. Damn! I can probably find those now too. That whole idea about me being so wise was total bull... I have to keep this guy. And we are definitely coming back for those Pentacles of Circe that make you live forever, well, almost forever-ish. I need a bigger place.
He offered me the urn. Some kind of gift, or wedding present? I knew ancient Greek wedding ceremonies didn't have anything like this.
"Men are lustful creatures," he said (pointing out the obvious in my mind), "You feed me magic powder in food or drink. You control my lust. You will make me unable to desire another woman. This power is for you."
Curious as to what this snake oil could be, I opened the urn or clay pot or whatever you call it to find a white powder. I sniffed it and recognized the smell of potassium nitrate immediately.
"This is called Salt Peter," I told him, it may do as you say, but the power is not magical. It is chemical. It only lowers your blood pressure a bit. It will work, but it is mostly just psychological." That probably didn't translate very well into ancient Greek at all.
"If it works, it works," he shrugged, "Yours. Make me walk the path of Humble. My lust is yours. You have this right as my wife."
"Wife for a year," I corrected him.
"Yes, my dear," he replied.
I realized then that we were already starting to sound like a married couple.

Later,

a thought crossed my mind. I think I had told him, "The lesson is right there in the statues. When you are ready to leave, you need to take the path of Humble, not the path of Hubris." The ancient Greek anti-hero Hubris never married, thinking he was Zeus' gift to all women. But his twin brother, Humble, married a frugal woman named Humility. I had to wonder if he were giving himself to me in marriage of his own idea, or did he think I had commanded him to do so, to "take the path of Humble."

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