and her skin shone luminous and impossibly pale, as if it drank light from the moon.
Above us, the constellations spun and the moon paced her weary course. We lay stricken and sleepless as the hours passed.
Indeed, he seemed utterly unaware of his effect on the boys around him.
Name one hero who was happy.
Who was he if not destined for fame?
Peleus acknowledged this. "Yet other boys will be envious that you have chosen such a one. What will you tell them?" "I will tell them nothing." The answer came with no hesitation, clear and crisp. "I...
That is — your friend?" "Philtatos," Achilles replied, sharply. Most beloved.
Achilles weeps. He cradles me, and will not eat, nor speak a word other than my name.
Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.
When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.
Achilles’ eyes lift. They are bloodshot and dead. “I wish he had let you all die.
Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.
We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory.
The never-ending ache of love and sorrow.
Exile might satisfy the anger of the living, but it did not appease the dead.
There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles,” Chiron said. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?
There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles,” Chiron said. “And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Do you think?”“Perhaps,” Achilles admitted.I...
He knew, but it was not enough. The sorrow was so large it threatened to tear through my skin. When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.
He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight. I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.
He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight.
