The world had changed much since she last walked across this landscape. Much can, and does, change in just over seventy years, but she needed to return. Her dreams, no doubt from Apollo, told her of a war soon to wash over the mortal world, one led by those she would not expect to lead such madness. In that timeless place where she grew up, on that island paradise, she spent her time after that first war learning, healing in body and spirit, and reconnecting with her beliefs. Her sisters embraced her, awestruck by her valiant efforts to bring their message of peace, couched in compassion, to a world so desperately in need of their philosophy. She strove to have them lovingly submit to a better way, to relinquish their servitude to war and conflict. And, when those dreams cascaded more feverishly through her mind as waves pummel a shoreline, she knew it was time to leave her mother’s side again. She had entered the mortal world this time without fanfare or insignia, hoping to learn the ways of this modern construct of society. Living in secret for months, keeping her truth concealed until just the right moment, she learned all she needed to know, and now she would reveal herself once more, an experienced woman in ways of battle and diplomacy, entering a world where she would replace her naïveté with knowledge and experience.
Stepping into the alley in this city she used to call home, she removes a golden rope from her coat pocket, ensures she is alone, and twirls the lasso of truth above her head. As the whooshing circle descends, the magic deconstructs her clothing, simultaneously replacing it with something else. As she steps out of the circle, she stands a woman transformed. Her glistening tiara rests on her brow, one point rising from the star to denote a regal status as princess, while the point dropping below the star reminiscent of the nosepiece of a battle helmet. The crimson cuirass on her torso is emblazoned with a golden eagle, its metallic wings, bearing the slightest hint of the letter w, outspread across her chest as if they are ready to take flight. Encircling her waist sits a golden belt, modeled after her mother’s Girdle of Gaea, another aspect of her royal status, but also symbolic of the girdle of Aphrodite, a goddess to whom she loving submits her loyalty. Draped beneath this belt are the dark blue folds of a skirt bearing a universe of white stars, a constant reminder of the cosmos she has sworn to protect. Red boots come up to her knee, a white stripe down the front to show she comes in peace—even when she must take arms, she does so as a last resort. And, lastly, adorning her wrists sit silver bracelets, faint hammer marks visible from when Hephaestus forged them from pieces of the Aegis, the shield used by Athene, once belonging to Zeus.
She coils the lasso in her hand and hangs it from the hook on her belt, the rope’s segments catching the light in ways that give it life. Stepping out from the alley, she is aware of how first the passersby notice her, the eyes of the elderly sparkling with the hint of recognition. Then, the cars stop, and drivers roll down their windows and stare. The city within eyeshot of her comes to a halt, and a wave of peace washes over everyone as she takes flight with a gentle push, and in her wake some later claimed to see the outstretch wings of an eagle, or perhaps a dove. They watch as she flies out of sight. For a moment, they smile before resuming their daily activities, subconsciously knowing that they will be watched over by the princess of the Amazons, the daughter of Hippolyte.
And, as they see the work she will yet do on their behalf, they will come to call her what others did decades ago—Wonder Woman.