HYACINTHUS

Chapter Twenty-One

I woke up in the middle of the night, my face wet with tears. It all felt so real, so incredibly real...

His lips tender, so, so tender, kissing my forehead. His thumbs brushing along the sides of my face, tucking my hair behind my ear. His fingers on my skin, as if I were a harp, playing a sumptuous melody. Sweet, lovely words exchanged, a delighted smile on both our faces, and on our lips, a taste of eternity.

I clutched the sheets below me, rolling onto my stomach, and wept into the pillow. A silent wail of anguish escaped my throat, and I sobbed quietly, wishing I could turn back time.

Zephyros, I thought, Zephyros, where are you?

Is he ever thinking of me, up there, in the misty highs of mount Olympus? Does he recognize my figure in the clouds when he flies in the sky with his brothers? What reminds him of me? Oak trees and crickets, for our first kiss? The steely sea, for our goodbyes? Or perhaps, when he plays his harp, he remembers how my fingers, too, tried to play on it...

Lost in a spiral of memories, I lay on the mattress, letting out a whimper. I couldn't bear staring at the dark ceiling for long, so I closed my eyes.

I hoped I would dream of Zephyros once again, but I also dreaded it. How cruel is it to wake up knowing your beloved is forever lost?

My eyes stung, and behind closed eyelids, visions of my past started becoming murky, until I was finally conquered again by sleep without dreams.

I woke up with someone violently swinging a bowl of ice-cold water on my head.

I blinked a few times, to get the water out of my eyes. My whole upper body was completely drenched, and my peplos became see-through.

That didn't seem to bother the young priest who had woken me up. He wore a white robe that covered him from collar to ankle. The robe didn't have a single wrinkle, as if just woven. On his face still round, pink and plump from childhood, was an expression of antipathy and displeasure.

"Your visit to Pythia is to happen exactly at noon", he said, and his voice was still high and untouched by age, although he was trying to be as stern and intimidating as possible. "That is, in exactly an hour and three quarters."

I frowned. "Why didn't Apollo come to tell me that?"

The priest boy gasped at my insolence. "His Holiness has more important matters to tend to than waking up... waking up... vagabonds of your sort!"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, he didn't seem so busy yesterday."

The look of rage the priest sent me was enough to make me shut my mouth. In silence, I stood up from the bed and walked to the door.

The priest shook his head. In silence, he passed to me the bundle of white cloth he was holding in his arms. I undid it. It was a robe similar to his.

"I don't know why", the priest boy said, "but His Holiness instructed me to tell you that he had changed his mind and that you are to have the necessary preparations for meeting Pythia. You have very little time to do so, but you can at least clean yourself in the bath at the end of the corridor. Pythia abhors dirtiness."

From his venomous tone, I recognized he would most rather let me die at Pythia's cave. However, he couldn't disobey the god he was serving.

I never thought I'd ever think to myself: I'm thankful to Apollo.

And then, right after: But it was him who put me in the mess I am in right now.

He shoved me out of the room in the direction of the bathroom. There, I first closed the door to protect myself from prying eyes, and then undressed. I eyed myself in the gigantic, gold-rimmed mirror.