𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐄

Chapter II

    My youth was filled with happiness and love. I felt as if I was blooming more each next day, spreading my wings under the caring gaze of my family. I grew to love playing the lyre, but I was hungry for improving my skills and discover new abilities. That's why I convinced my father to employ one of the most famous musicians in Dardania. Aristeas was his name. He was a very proud man and a really strict teacher, but it never discouraged me because he was supposed to teach me how to play an instrument bigger and more complicated than the lyre. He came every few days to the castle to teach me how to play the kithara. Whenever he laid his hands gracefully on those strings, the sounds his slender fingers made were something that would be stuck in my memory forever. The beautiful harmony he was creating, as if each stroke on the strings told another word of some story, made my heart hammer in my chest each time. He could tell whatever story he wanted without using a single word. It could be sad and touching, but it could also be happy and frivolous, or dramatic. I wanted to be just as skilled as him and gift people with my music, to have them listen to the tunes my fingers would create. Have them hear my very own stories. I wished to worship the gods by playing my music, because is there a better way to show your gratitude for everything I've got? For all the happy moments I got to experience, for my family, for each sunset and sunrise I've got to witness, for all the beautiful dreams that kept me entertained at night, and more.

Aristeas often corrected me when my fingers pulled on the strings wrongly, creating a dissonant sound. Some would say his way of correcting was harsh because whenever such thing occurred, he hit my hands with a few twigs of weeping willow, which he used as a whip. It wasn't pleasant at all, but I felt even more encouraged by it. I wanted to do better and avoid mistakes. With each passing month of learning, I got better, and my hands were red less often. Aristeas seemed to be more and more pleased with the outcome of his work in the form of my skills that were gradually getting better. 

Whenever I didn't have my music lessons, I went outside to play my lyre or enjoy doing other things that brought me joy even just walking around the gardens of my mother or our orchard. I didn't even notice when I turned seventeen. I won't deny that I grew up to be quite beautiful; that's what people around me often said, at least. At times, it bothered me that they seemed to focus more on my looks than on my talents or character. But as time went on, I learned to accept it—or rather, I used it as motivation to improve in the things I loved. I wanted to be seen not just for my appearance but for what I could accomplish and what I worked hard to achieve.

My skin was fair, almost too pale compared to others. I didn't spend as much time in the sun, being kept within the marble walls of the castle, safe from the elements but also from sunlight. My skin became sensitive, and I had to avoid the midday sun. I remember once falling asleep in the garden, only to wake up with my skin painfully red and dry. Later, when it began peeling, my brothers teased me, saying I must be some rare species of lizard. I'll never forget their laughter as our mother and her maids gently applied cream to soothe my back and shoulders. Ilus, ever the responsible one, tried to quiet his amusement, gently scolding Assaracus for laughing outright at my misery.

My brothers, Ilus and Assaracus, had tanned skin from their time spent training outdoors, and their bodies were muscled from hard work, no longer the lean frames of boyhood. Ilus took after our father with his dark hair, while Assaracus's hair had the color of wheat fields at the end of summer. My own hair was blond and fell to my shoulder blades. Our mother liked to say I was blessed with golden locks. I was slender, partly because I hadn't started physical training as early as my brothers had, and later because my parents decided it wasn't necessary for me. Instead, I focused on things I genuinely enjoyed: music, poetry, and philosophy.

I inherited my father's piercing ocean-blue gaze and my mother's radiant smile—or so they liked to tell me, as if they took pleasure in seeing their features reflected in me.