(A.N: For Ashen Clouds)
Toward the Sun
By Silver Sailor Ganymede
Apollo had always loved flowers. There was something enchanting about the way their chromatic forms gleamed under the sunlight and gazed longingly toward the sun, seeming more beautiful than even Aphrodite herself.
Apollo loved every kind flower, but the one that never failed to catch his attention was the hyacinth. In his mind is was the most painfully beautiful of all – beautiful because of the one it had been made from, painful because it served as a constant reminder of what he had lost.
Just as Artemis cried for Orion, who had become one with the stars, Apollo cried for Hyacinth, who had become one with the Earth. The memory of him was always there; even the waters of the Lethe could not have cleared his mind of the past tragedy.
No matter how much it hurt him to gaze upon the flower's perfect form, he knew that he would never allow himself to forget the past. It would be a sin to forget one so beautiful as Hyacinth.
Even though he was long gone, Hyacinth never turned his face away from the sun, and for that he was never forgotten, least of all by Apollo.