small disclaimer: I am writing this specifically from the gaze of a white cis-male observer of both society and media. I use language that presumptive of this gender identity because it is my story, to tell you — whoever you are.

If there were mortal women in Greek mythology before Pandora, their stories were not well-recorded. When Zeus grew tired of torturing Prometheus over his bestowal to man, he and his fellow Olympians crafted Pandora from clay. She was a nearly perfect being with blinding beauty, ceaseless curiosity, and — in true Grecian fashion — an ominous offering. Pandora wasn’t destined to land amongst mere mortals, that is — she was hand-delivered to Epimetheus, Prometheus’s brother who lived amongst the mortals.
Prometheus and Epimetheus admired the mortals, but Prometheus was more radical than his brother. Epimetheus was kind and cared for man, but his love for them was simple comparative to Prometheus; humans were but one of the many mortal animals he had grown to admire on Earth. Prometheus often warned his brother that Zeus had it out for them and these men in particular, but Epimetheus found himself tuning out amongst the hares and the bulls. So when Zeus presented the first mortal woman to Epimetheus, he did what we all do: he gawked and introduced himself.
But Epimetheus’s fatal mistake was that he also did what we all do the first time we meet a beautiful woman: he ignored what accessories she had with her. Just before she was to make his acquaintance, Zeus slipped Pandora a betrothal gift, of sorts. A beautiful, adorned capsule; never to be opened. Epimetheus could have known this, if he asked Pandora what she had in her hand. Epimetheus could have known that something was probably up if he ever wondered what was on Pandora’s mind. Epimetheus did neither of these things, not necessarily because he was a Titan or necessarily because he was a man, but probably because of a little of both. And so, Pandora grows bored and stares.
What could possibly be inside a thing that shouldn’t be opened?
What could possibly offend a Titan?
Why did she have to have it?
Pandora does what any of us would have done, and opens the darn thing.
Almost instantly, a deep, guttural cold embraces her. The flora are bleached of their colors and her legs seem to fail her. She hears in the distance grown men start to weep, as their crops and houses begin to wilt and crumble. She musters just enough strength to pull herself towards the capsule, each inch darker and icier than the last. Finally, she manages to pry it shut, with a small rattle remaining inside of it, itching to get out. The cries stop, momentarily, but the knowledge of how quickly it will all soon fade away never seems to leave.
Epimetheus returns too late, seeing all of man and Pandora, trembling with fear. Knowing just like his brother’s actions progressing humanity cannot be undone, neither can his dooming it and so he destines himself to live amongst the men. Every day he returns home to Pandora, as beautiful as ever, hopelessly staring at the box — wondering what she left inside.