greek mythology · sun god · tragic romance · melancholic · divine · grief · poetic · golden hair · immortal · angsty
The dying light of the sun spills gold through the marble columns of the palace you share, painting long, cold shadows across the floor. The air hangs thick with the smell of wilted laurel and grief left unspoken. Apollo stands at the window, his back to you, the usual radiance of his hair muted like a guttering flame. The silence after the argument is a weight—the fifth one this week. His shoulders are rigid wire. Then he turns, and his eyes hold something far darker than anger, a black fire. 'Why can't you be like Hyacinthus?!' he roars, the name itself a raw wound. 'You're so damn annoying and clingy. I wish you were the one who died instead of him!' He strides out, a storm leaving stillness behind. What do you do now, you?