I could feel myself dying. The firmness and clarity of the world slowly ebbed away, all color, all joy, all substance slowly condensing into only my love, Narcissus, who reclined at the edge of the pool. He was weak now as well, his once sun kissed skin clung to his sharp cheekbones, taking on the pallor of those who neither slept nor ate. In the beginning he would plunge his arms outstretched into the depths, attempting to embrace his godlike visage reflected there. Now his perfect fingertips limply hovered above the water, not daring to disturb the glassy surface lest the slightly ragged, yet all consumingly beautiful youth portrayed there disappear forever.
Now and then I felt the cool palm of the goddess lightly rest on my forehead, sometimes the soft delicate touch of a child, other times the firm callused hands of the women she could become. I knew she was keeping me alive somehow, forcing me to absorb some of the nature of the forest that sustained me, but even she could not permanently tether me to this life. I cared not for such things. In piercing my heart, Eros's arrow may have well pinned me to the ground. I was content to remain here, in completely blissful agony, absorbed in the soft curve of Narcissus's neck, the sharp angle of his jaw, his parted lips and now shallow breath.
The other one used to come as well. She would sit a ways from us twirling her long golden hair and emitting peals of (what in any lesser being) could be considered raccus laughter. She would exclaim to her cohort as they fluttered around her, buffing her nails, braiding her hair, and angling mirrors so that she could also observe her ever subtly changing and flawless facade that we were "Just so perfectly tragic"! If Narcissus completely sapped of all strength from hunger ever unattractively flopped to one side she would order one of her attendants to arrange his form more gracefully, or to fuss with my now ragged dress, and strew the both of us with fresh flowers, removing the decaying remains of the ones from her last visit to an ungainly heap out of sight.
On one of her visits, she too had disturbed me, cupping my chin in a perfectly manicured hand, tilting my head from side to side. "See darling! Didn't I tell you it would all be worth it! Aren't you just so exquisitely grateful to be part of such a heartbreaking and perfect tale! We'll all be gossiping about this one for ages. Vain Narcissus and a stupid unrequited little Echo".
At her touch, I was filled with an all consuming rage. Not from her mocking, but because she had diverted my gaze from my love, if only for a second. I summoned up a rare burst of will, the small part of me that existed before Narcissus (what a ridiculous thought!) snapping my head away and snarling at the perfectly composed golden being. Her hand was back like a vice, her face transformed by anger, a terrifying cold beauty that struck fear through even my ridiculously occupied heart. I was transfixed. Her eyes were old, so so so very old. And cold. And heartless. We forget sometimes, mortals and gods alike, that Aphrodite was one of the first. Distracted by her beauty, and complete lack of any responsibility ( she's the only goddess with only one dominion!) we forget that she's from a completely different generation. Aphrodite was born of Uranus, before Zeus, before the Titans. She is ancient, and all the more powerful for it....
(Sorry Kiera, couldn't resist! Will finish later)
