Warning: Mentions of incest.
Okay, so this is my first Greek Mythology fic; I blame Ovid, though. And I might write an Eros x Pysche (hugs), but that all depends. Oh, and sorry, I used their Roman names, I think; I just kind of like them better. (shrug) And thanks to Rachael for reading this over!
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Essentially, he was everything, all-powerful, the shining oracle, for he was the sun.
He was a shining beacon, glorified by pride and power and looks, because he was the son of Jupiter and therefore vastly important in the world of men. And he allowed himself the arrogance, allowed himself the vanity, because he knew all that they said to be true, and how could anyone deny it? His golden hair was the liquefied sun manipulated into curls to suit him, his lyre was the instrument that conjured the winds into music, and his arrows were those that struck their mark without hesitation or disobedience to their master. He had all, was all, and would always be all, for he was the important Apollo.
And Apollo never knew failure.
But that wretched arrow-bearing Eros. He made him falter, all because Apollo had stated fact, had uttered that such a young god who only pranced around with a mischievous mindset and fooled with the troubled hearts of lovers could never amount to the greatness of the god of the sun, and thus felt envy and loathing. In strife he had pierced his prideful breast and had drawn his attention to that wood-loving nymph, that Daphne, so like the Diana that he tried desperately to avoid.
But no, she was the vision of his imitating flesh, and his forbidden love for her bloomed, so that he ran that virgin nymph daughter of Peneus to her death.
Diana. Even as he called that Daphne's name, even as he begged and pleaded for her to slow so that he might sing to her the praises of himself, he thought of his moon goddess, his sister who would never love a man because she preferred freedom and the velvet night and the life of a huntress. The wise Diana, the beautiful Diana, and the bathed-in-silver-moonlight and never-tarnished Diana. He loved her, and loved her more as he saw her image flee from him without hesitation through the forests, unkempt hair fluttering, feet swift and ready to lift her into the air so that she might take flight. And as he neared the girl who reminded him of his beloved sister, she cried to her father, as Diana had cried to Jupiter when man had dared spy on her bathing form, and in a flourish, just as he stumbled to wrap his arms around the woman he loved who was so close to being his, a laurel tree sprang up, and she was gone, Eros laughing mischievously so far away.
And his heart broke, because he lost Diana once again. He wanted his beloved sister, to hold her soft-as-moonlight skin and take in her nightfall beauty. Protecting her from the hands of man was not enough, and as he lost the nymph to laurel bark and promised her infinite things, he longed for more power, because divinity wasn't enough, it seemed.
Wretched Eros, taking his beloved from him once more and damning an innocent girl to death. He'd made him utterly powerless, had made him a fool, and as his fingertips slipped away from the shivering tree and the pounding of his heart for her faded as she was lost to the world of mortals and gods, he lifted his head to the clouds, following the line of the horizon slowly to Mount Olympus. Daylight was fading, Helios's chariot reaching closer and closer to the earth. And he realized, staring at the melting sky where gold clashed with violet, that the sun and the moon could never meet completely.
A horizon of battles would always keep them from each other's arms.
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Please review, and constructively criticize if necessary.