Just Call Me "Agave the Blest"

It's finals week, with all that entails. I just finished a paper on Euripides' Bacchae, and was inspired to create short comic version of the climactic scene at the end, when Agave, still in the throes of Dionysiac madness, presents the severed head of her son Pentheus to her Cadmus, her father:

Agave: Now, father,
ours can be the proudest boast of living men.
For you are now the father of the bravest daughters
in the word. All of your daughters are brave,
but I above the rest. I have left my shuttle
at the loom; I raised my sight to higher things--
to hunting animals with my bare hands.
You see?
Here in my hands I hold the quarry of my chase,
a trophy for our house. Take it, Father, take it.
Glory in my kill and invite your friends to share
the feast of triumph. For you are blest, Father,
by this great deed I have done.

Cadmus: This is a grief
so great it knows no size. I cannot look.
This is the awful murder your hands have done.
This, this is the noble victim you have slaughtered
to the gods. And to share a feast like this
you now invite all Thebes and me?
O gods,
how terribly I pity you and then myself.
Justly--too, too justly--has lord Bromius,
this god of our own blood, destroyed us all,
every one.
(Bacchae of Euripides, Arrowsmith trans. 1960)

Here is my take on the scene:



Moral of the story: do not fuck with Dionysus.