'Icarus laughed as he fell.
Threw his head back and
yelled into the winds,
arms spread wide,
teeth bared to the world.
(There is a bitter triumph
in crashing when you should be
soaring.)
The wax scorched his skin,
ran blazing trails down his back,
h...
fifteen's theme - slipping through my fingers - abba
A mother's grief was a powerful thing.
Pasiphae had spent hours at her daughter's grave, that at that moment, only had a wooden cross, to mark the disturbed earth where her darling daughter lay.
She had lost everything, her husband, her son and now her daughter. She regretted a lot of things but nothing more than shutting her daughter out after Achilles' death.
Her daughter was dead and there was nothing she could do.
She made her way to the grave but someone was already there.
It was the boy who had lurked on the river bank after the service, an extension of the Catton's it seemed. Their house guest for the summer.
Pasiphae edged her way closer to the boy as he clutched at Felix's grave marker, clinging on to it like a life raft that would protect him from a turbulent sea.
'Hello.'
The voice snapped Oliver out of his grief as he turned around, fat tears rolling down his face.
The woman who looked at him was what he imagined Ariadne would've looked like in 30 or so years. She was beautiful with the same golden curls that Ariadne had once possessed. One's that now were covered with dirt.
He got up and greeted the woman who held an exhausted smile on her face. 'You are Ari's mum aren't you?'
She caught his gaze and swallowed, 'Yes I am... well I was.' She choked on the final word, not wanting to accept her last thing to live for was gone.
'I'm sorry for your loss, Pasiphae.' he tasted her name on his lips, it felt good.
'And yours.' the woman replied gesturing to Felix's grave.
'She was good, so good y'know.' Oliver blurted out, indicating towards Ariadne, it didn't matter now, all the niceties, the girl was dead and his secrets would be safe.
Oliver got up to leave as the older woman knelt at her daughter's grave, placing her daughter's bracelets on the cross.
The woman stayed at the churchyard for a few hours, recalling her most cherished, special moments with her daughter. From her birth to her christening, where the vicar had asked why she chose such peculiar names for her two children, to birthday parties, holidays, tantrums, arguments and school graduations.
Her favourite memory of her daughter was helping her get ready for her leavers ball when she was 16, Felix had been her daughter's date, they were still friends at the time and Ariadne insisted she had to look perfect for the Catton boy.
Her mother had helped her pick her dress, a beautiful cream gown that fit her daughter perfectly and she helped fix her hair, pinning it into place with meticulous care.
That would be the closest Pasiphae would get to seeing her daughter's wedding day, her daughter would never get to walk down the aisle with Felix at the end of it.
There would be no wedding and no cake and no party because both of them were dead.
Ariadne had slipped through her mothers fingers, through the school gates when she was young and now, through the veil of the living to the dead.
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