Carthaginian Romance (metaphor, broken)
musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso
quidve dolens regina deum tot volvere casus
insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores
inpulerit. tantaene animis caelestibus irae?*
Sometimes, Girodelle likes to dream.
He likes to dream that Oscar feels for him, and smiles for him, and married him.
It's all sunshine and roses, too, in his dream. Cloudless sky and singing birds above a blooming garden. A gentle breeze plays with her golden hair, with the flowing waves of her gown.
Girodelle can almost smell the roses around her.
She's always reading, in his dream. She once said she liked the Aeneid, and he likes to picture her holding the well-worn copy his father gave him when he was a boy, running her finger along the page as she mouths the words, turning age-old verses into music.
She's sighing as she reads of Aeneas and Dido, and of their love that ended in death and death overcome, when they meet again in the Otherworld.
And then, dream-Oscar closes her eyes and has a dream for herself, where he is Aeneas, the shining hero, the founder of empires and leader of men, and where she is Dido, the cunning queen of a blooming city, who would give her everything for her love. Who did give her everything.
This, then, is the moment where Girodelle stops and thinks, just for a moment, and dream-Oscar's eyes fly open, and the dream is whisked away to the realms of never-will-be.
There could never be an Oscar reading in his garden, soft and gentle and just waiting.
Girodelle would never love her then.
He could love no Dido, dying because she is left behind.
No, she is the hero, the kingdom maker. She is Aeneas. Driven away from the place of her birth, driven by destiny to something greater than mankind has ever seen.
He wonders if this leaves him as Dido, and for a second, it seems so right.
Dido, who loved so fiercely that she deceived those closest to her, and abandoned her work of years uncounted. Who could not bear to live without her love.
Dido, who became bitter as she was left behind, and cursed her beloved with her dying breath.
No, Girodelle is not Dido.
He is not even in the same love story.
*Aeneid, I 8-11: Muse, name the reasons for me, due to which sacrilege and which slight the queen of the Gods let a man of such piety suffer through so many strokes of fate and so many labours. Is such (so huge) the spite in the hearts of Gods?
A/N: Humble greetings from this RoV newbie who comes bearing meagre offerings. The literary references can all be looked up in book IV of the Aeneid, which I heartily recommend anyway. It left me all teary-eyed.
Criticism would be very much appreciated!