Apollo

Now that I have your attention, I'd like to direct it toward a delightful and inspirational movie us mortals refer to as Mamma Mia!-- and, Apollo's favorite movie of 2008. I rewatched it tonight and noticed something I almost forgot.

( A Greek Cameo from The Credits! )

Uh, I promise I'll continue the blindness plot soon. This movie inspired me like crazy, hahaha.

Apollo's vacation had been going well-- he and Hyacinthus had taken advantage of the boy's holiday from school and took time to relax on Olympus; they traveled here and there, but never for too long; they hunted, they watched movies, delighted in each other; all in all, it was a welcome respite from the stress of the community's needs.

Unfortunately, it wasn't to last.

They had gone to sleep in the spacious bedroom of Apollo's crystal mansion on Olympus, wrapped in layers of blankets soft and supple, resting more so on hundreds of pillows than on the bed itself-- however, when the Sun God awoke the following morning, there was something wrong.

Something very, very wrong.

It was dark. And not the darkness of the night; Apollo had always taken comfort in the soft, calming light of the Moon and the constellations-- this was a Darkness deeper than the furthest reaches of Tartarus. Apollo sat up, untangling himself from unfamiliar blankets-- this, this was not Olympus. What was worse, not only was it dark, but it was cold. Cold. Cold. He whipped around, feeling his hair brush his cheek, hearing the birds singing in the morning sunsh-- no. No, no no no no no. Panicked, Apollo tumbled out of bed, falling heavily and painfully on one knee-- he wrenched the sheet from around his ankle, willing the pain in his knee away.

Except, it did not heal. It throbbed angrily and bitterly, and Apollo slowly, groping for the bed and anything around for leverage (there was a crash, there went the damned lamp). He couldn't-- wouldn't move from where he was, feeling a sick, sick sense of dread in his stomach.

"Hyacinthus! Hyacinthus!"

Not a word.

Nothing.

I had thought that the eclipse would have garnered her attention, but no. The cypress trees on Olympus tell me nothing; nor the deer. I have sent ravens in all directions, but they've returned without even a glimpse of her. I've gone to my homes in both Australia and Hawaii, but she isn't there.

...

Do not dare tell me she's simply faded, in the way of the Egyptians and Etruscans. She hasn't. I would know.

Why hasn't she come?