"... My aim is certain, but an arrow truer than mine has wounded my free heart! The whole world calls me the bringer of aid; medicine is my invention; my power is in herbs. But love cannot be healed by any herb, nor can the arts that cure others cure their lord!"
- Apollo (Phoebus by Ovid) pursuing Daphne, in Ovid's Metamorphoses (1.438-567), 8 CE
➽───────────────❥
༺༺★༻༻
Candid tunes in perfect harmony, a clear melody performed with frank precision; if one was to describe how a lyre sang, this would be it.
The wordless rhythm flowed on the shivering river not so far away, in the sloth calm of noon; gold-fleeced sheeps rested under the giant shades of acorns after feeding on bunnies and deers, their shepherd sitting on a boulder next to them, immersed in his music.
The shepherd, as it was said, a divine deity; russet hair adorned with a crown of laurel leaves, robes golden and ivory, face as sweet as the song performed by his skilled fingers.
The last shrill cry of the lyre thrummed on the spectacular skies, freeing nature from the suspended state of awe, like a magician successfully finishing his trick before a spellbound audience.
But in this scenario, not all spectators were the audience.
"Hail to your mastery, my Lord!" a familiar voice bloomed behind the shepherd, causing discomfort to settle on his skin, startling the flock. "True, those who say that the lyre sung best in the hands of master of music himself!"
The sheeps, after seeing who the intruder was, placated instantaneously. But their shepherd didn't relax, nor faced the source of the voice, schooling his own tone as disinterested as it could be, he spoke, "And what, tell me boy, had given me the honour to have the son of Aphrodite as my listener?"
"Crash, as always, crash." Taehyung chuckled, leaning his back on the sturdy bark of the nearest oak, from whose shelter he just appeared, delicate golden feathers of his tucked wings serving as a makeshift backrest; addressing the other as such, "One would be expected to change after receiving punishment, but not you, Kiwoo."
Kiwoo swiftly turned to the winged god, distressed at the other's mere presence like a serpent who got his tail stepped on.
"Don't consider yourself a judge of my character, Taehyung. Never had the sieve held the right to judge a needle, nor it ever will."
"That tongue of yours, Kiwoo, gave you your wounds, still you run it like a mare in heat."
The other Olympian fell silent, ever fatigued in his inner turmoils to have another tiff with this insufferable youngling of Aphrodite.
"Haven't I already begged you for your forgiveness, Lord Eros?" Kiwoo questioned, resigned. "Crazed even when knowing the future, rashing like a madman after a mirage, how much more anguish do you intend to inflict on me?"
"How, tell me, the great Apollo," Taehyung inquired, rather amused in his play, "how can I, an impudent child holding a man's weapons as you see me, cause any difference to the magnificent deity of Olympus, the son of Zeus himself?"
Alas, Fates! In which calculation, you deemed this irascible boy's uncaring hands fit to control the tender emotions of hearts?
YOU ARE READING
The Arrows Of Love || VMIN
Fanfiction"My L-lord?" the Prince uttered, voice low and wobbly; tilting his neck, narrowing his eyes in futile efforts to see his monster of a husband through the dark. "Yes, Peony?" "I- I can't see you, my Lord." "Peony." The warm touch left Jimin's cheeks...
