Greek Mythology Coloring Pages
Arachne Coloring Pages
Known for her incredible talent at the loom, Arachne’s story tells of creativity, confidence, and the power of art. When she dared to challenge the goddess Athena to a weaving contest, her skill was so great that it became legendary, though her pride came with a price.
Arachne, the Weaver:
The thread hums beneath my fingers, alive and bright, like sunlight drawn into silk. I can feel it... every twist, every pull, every heartbeat that passes through the loom. My hands know what to do before my mind does. They always have.
People come from towns away to watch me work, their whispers filling my little weaving hall. They call me gifted. They call me blessed by the gods. But I know better. No god taught me this. I learned from the feel of the wool, from the patience of mornings spent untangling it, from the rhythm of my mother’s spinning wheel. My gift is my own.
Still, I see them bow their heads when they speak of Athena, the goddess of crafts. They say she gave mortals the art of weaving. They say I should thank her for every pattern I create.
But why should I thank someone I’ve never met for what I’ve built with my own hands?
So when the old woman appeared in my doorway one afternoon, I barely looked up. My shuttle clacked against the loom as I wove the shimmer of a river into a field of green.
“Child,” she said, her voice soft and stern all at once, “you should show more respect when you speak of the gods.”
I smiled without turning. “I mean no disrespect. Only truth. No goddess sits beside me when I work.”
There was silence. Then, a rustle of fabric, like feathers brushing the air. I looked up, and the old woman was gone. In her place stood Athena herself, radiant and terrible, her gray eyes sharp as forged metal.
“If you are so certain of your skill,” she said, “then prove it. We will weave, you and I. And the world will see whose work is worthy of praise.”
My heart beat faster, but I nodded. “Very well.”
We set up our looms side by side. The air grew heavy, filled with the scent of wool and lightning. She worked with divine grace, her tapestry blooming with scenes of her triumphs... Athena’s wisdom, Athena’s justice. The gods above, glorious and untouchable.
I wove the truth.
I wove the stories no one dared tell: the gods’ vanity, their cruelty, their tempers that burned the world for sport. I wove Zeus with his lightning and his lies, Apollo chasing nymphs who fled in terror. The threads gleamed like firelight against shadow.
When we finished, even the air seemed to hold its breath. Athena’s work was flawless... but mine lived.
Her gaze hardened. I saw it then, the fury flickering beneath her calm.
“You are talented,” she said quietly, “but you lack humility.”
Before I could speak, her hand moved, swift and shining. The world tilted, blurred. My body twisted, my fingers shrank, my limbs thinned into legs. The loom loomed above me like a tower, and the threads I once commanded now tangled around me like a web.
Athena’s voice echoed as she vanished: “Weave forever, then, Arachne.”
And I do.
Each night, under moonlight, I spin. My silk catches the stars, my patterns shimmer in the dew. I weave the stories no one dares to tell - the beauty and the pride, the fall and the truth.
Let the gods have their temples. I have my threads.
And through them, I endure.