Once upon a time, there was the Lady Delphina, a woman renowned for her beauty and talents. She was engaged to marry Theo of Rome, the most handsome suitor in all of the Mediterranean.
The goddess Epiphania, a patron of the finest arts, also desired Theo. But he was happily charmed by the Lady Delphina, so he spurned the goddess. Jealous and enraged, Epiphania cast Theo into the underworld, to the bank of the River Styx. Trapped in limbo, he could neither cross into the land of the dead, nor return to his betrothed.
Epiphania then set out to humiliate the Lady Delphina, designing to prove that even the most talented mortal was nothing compared to the might of a goddess.
The goddess came to the Lady Delphina, and told her what she had done. She promised that Theo would be freed, if Lady Delphina proved her skill in archery was greater than Epiphania’s skill in painting. But if Epiphania won, then Charon would arrive to take Theo on his voyage across the Styx. To this the Lady Delphina agreed, as her mastery of the bow was feared among even the Scythians. Epiphania (in her Olympian vanity) painted a beautiful life-sized portrait of herself on the trunk of an oak tree, and invited the Lady Delphina to strike the face with her arrow. When the arrow easily landed true, ruining the masterpiece, Epiphania simply smiled, and painted a new, smaller portrait of herself. And this game went on for many days.
All the while, the Lady Delphina pleaded with goddess Epiphania, but this served only to amuse the latter, and she issued even harsher challenges. The paintings shrank without end: soon they were the size of an apple, then the size of a grape, then an ant, then a fruit-fly; yet Delphina’s sharp arrows each hit their mark. Every sucess paradoxically delighted Epiphania further, as it inspired her to compose ever-more elaborate masterpieces in miniature, painted with a single strand of her own hair.
At length, the Lady Delphina realized the true purpose of cruel Epiphania’s challenge: as an immortal, Epiphania could taunt her as long as she pleased, but Lady Delphina would soon grow old and die. And Theo would stay forever imprisoned on the bank of the Styx, as a cursed and lonely wraith, forgotten by all.
Each night, Lady Delphina dreamed she was the tip of the arrow, flying on an enormous arc that encompassed the globe, about to pierce the face of her retreating foe. But as in the doctrine of Zeno, her remaining distance shrank indefinitely, and she never caught up with her quarry. And then the sneering portrait of the goddess became two, each half-sized; then there were four in quarter-size; then eight in eighths; until there was a monstrous face made of faces made of faces, endlessly swelling in number; then the canvas was cut into impossible hairline ribbons as by a half-edged blade, spawning an uncountable spiteful multitude, fanning out to the horizon and eclipsing the sun, a dissonant chorus of laughter bubbling up from the unthinkable depths.
Each day she would awaken, and see that same face waiting for her, and her hatred and resolve grew without bound. And so the game went on.
Months passed, and news of this strange duel made its way to Mount Olympus, whereupon Apollo was sent to adjudicate the matter. He could not dispute Epiphania’s right to avenge her wounded pride as she saw fit, yet equally he took pity on the talented Lady Delphina, being as he was the patron of archery, and seeing in her feats his own art brought to perfection. He suggested to grant Delphina immortality, to make her fairly matched against Epiphania, but Delphina countered that it would be no better, as Theo would still languish for an eternity before her final victory.
Apollo proposed one final round, to judge which of the two was more worthy, and thereby break the stalemate. Epiphania would paint one final portrait, and Lady Delphina would shoot at it, and Apollo would study this with the utmost attention. Thence, Apollo would use his powers of prophecy and truth, having seen not just at the arrow and the portrait, but also the minds and hearts of the two rivals, weighing their respective abilities and resolves.
In his mind, he would imagine an immortal Lady Delphina, and judge whether the archeress could truly beat every challenge posed; or else someday the paintress would win a decisive upper hand. Epiphania would paint grains of sand, then motes of dust, and then even the Atoms spoken of by Democritus; and the Lady Delphina’s arrows might cleave apart even those. Apollo would watch the game played out to its conclusion, through the infinite centuries; Mount Olympus would be eroded into dust and carried away on the winds, but the duel might outlast the world.
And when satisfied in his judgment, he would speak the name of the victor, and thereby decide the fate of Theo of Rome.