Heracles opens his eyes. His eyes were not closed before. They were blinded by the curse of Hera, his namesake. The hellebore had saved him. But oh, what grief immediately seized his gaze.

Before him lay his children and Megara, his faithful wife. All pierced by arrows. His arrows. Their blood forms a large pool that reaches down to his feet.

Heracles, who realises that he has killed his children. Disgust shows on his face, fear and hatred. Hatred of himself. His deed is horrible, he knows that. But he does not know how Hera blinded him and that it was not his fault.

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Heracles collapses, the strongest of all the living. He gazes madly at his bloody hands, at his reflection in the blood of his beloved family. He hides his face in his hands, his huge body trembles. He throws up.

Antikyreus puts his hand on his shoulder ‘It's not your fault, Heracles’. Heracles flinches, pulls himself up and staggers back. ‘Don't look at me,’ he shouts, ’I've done a terrible thing.’ ‘It's not your fault,’ Antikyreus repeats. ‘Turn away, even Hades is too good for me,’ Heracles shouts again. He falls backwards, picks himself up and runs away.

Even after all his heroic deeds and being washed clean, Heracles never picked up a mirror again. He never looked at his face in the water again, so great was this feeling towards himself.