Repeated: The Story of Echo and Narcissus

Echo was a simple nymph. She loved gossip, loved to hear and spread the word of mouth that tickled her ear. Aphrodite herself praised her for her beauty and her lovely voice. She was vain in a way much different from the vanity of the man she loved. And so she was cursed by the gods, her voice stolen from her and her mouth filled with the words of others.

After she lost her voice, there was no love for Echo. They laughed and mocked her. “She deserved it,” they said. “No loss there.” So when a handsome hunter wandered through the forest, her heart filled with the desire to be loved once more. But she could not call out to him and, eventually, he came upon a crystal pool of water where he found the love of his life: himself.

He was vain, they said amongst themselves. Vain, but so so pretty. They fawned over him; he fawned over himself. She watched from afar, unseen and only occasionally heard, waiting for her turn to be noticed. But that would never happen, and everyone knew it. What chance could an invisible little Echo have with such a beautiful man who didn't even know she existed? So poor Echo watched with sadness in her heart as the man she loved withered away to nothing.

Eventually, she faded away too, nothing but her repeating voice left in the world. In her mind and her heart, she hoped that someday she would live a new life as a new being and the beautiful man would too. Then they could finally be together. Her only wish was that she could say his name, feel its sweet sound coat her lips with the honey that was the voice from her own soul, not the bitter words others were allowed to speak. She longed to, just once, gently whisper, “Narcissus.”

This is the story, the legend, the myth. Their vain love never saw its chance in that first meeting, but their souls were too tightly twined together. And their story was far from over.

Star-crossed lovers they were. For years, she was silent. She sat back, biting her tongue, as her father married her away to some pompous, self-absorbed man who she had no real feelings for. He was a peacock, strutting and fanning out his luxurious tail to get the best mate he could. To such a man, she was an ideal wife: beautiful and from a wealthy family. How could she say no? Good girls were seen and not heard; they did as their parents wished without qualm.

Then there was sweet, strong Romeo. He was beautiful and kind and she knew it was love the moment their eyes met by the look in his eyes, full of amazement, and the way her stomach lurched at his smile. She felt a pull so strong to the handsome boy, something in the pit of her stomach that she could not ignore, a stone dragging her into unknown depths. She no longer wished to be silent, to be obedient. She wanted to be with this boy, this forbidden entity. She would do anything to preserve this exciting and intoxicating feeling, even if she didn't understand what it meant. For what is a Juliet without her dear Romeo?

Romeo knew he needed this girl, needed her like a carriage needs four wheels and a horse. She was beautiful, her smile enchanting. Who cared if they only just met? It was love they shared, and he would have it. But how could they be together? Their families would never allow such a marriage. What business did a Capulet have 'loving' a Montague? Romeo knew only one thing: no matter who it hurt, he would have his Juliet.

And together they died for this ancient love. Died for each other and in the others arms. Love was etched in their hearts and poison lingered in the last kiss. But that is all they were, were they not? Nothing but wine and poison. Sweet poison and bitter wine. Together, they could speak only death.

Her name was Annabel Lee. She was soft and sweet as she drifted through the kingdom by the sea, her kind words gracing their neighbors. He loved her and she loved him. They were as one, it seemed. Her words were full of grace and light as feathers. She was called quiet, only speaking her heart when they were alone. It seemed love was the word floating on the breeze, from the villagers to their families to the angels above.

It was winter when she first fell ill. He longed to see her again, though he knew what he would find. Her soft glow extinguished, her life faded so. It would be painful to see her as such, but more so to stay away. He let his words carry up to the heavens, praying for her health to return.

His prayers went unanswered. Within a fortnight, the tragedy reached his ear. The sickness was too strong for fragile, sickly Annabel Lee. So every night, he laid by her side, as much as he could. He sat by her tomb as the ocean roared. Through rain and sun and snow and hail, they rested together, her name whispered through cracked lips in the darkness as he stared up at the stars; her name torn from his nightmares as he slept. On the nights when it was calm, he sat on a rock that broke the waves in half. And when water was trapped in small pools to its side, there were the stars and the moon reflected, singing their silvery glow. And there he saw himself, but he no longer felt it was himself. It was a stranger wearing his skin and looking through his eyes.

He loved only his Annabel Lee and lived by her side. Even in her death, he stayed with her. Even when he found that he no longer knew who he was. And, at the end of his life, he saw her face only and breathed her name only; he died by her side.

“I love you,” he whispered against her soft lips, feeling her smile.

“I love you,” she echoed. Slowly, they opened their eyes, lips mere millimeters apart. In her deep, blue eyes, he could see himself reflected. From the moment he met her, he knew it was love, a feeling of flying, then suddenly free-falling. He should have been scared. He should have been concerned about the inevitable splat! No matter how much he thought about it, he could not force those feelings to come.

She felt it too, in every tender word and gentle touch. They were one, dozens of individual ingredients thrown together to make an intricate, delectable dish. It was sweet and spicy and bitter and sour all at once, but it was the most delicious thing either of them had ever experienced. It was love older than they could comprehend. Two souls meeting at long last. You could say that it was “fate” or “destiny,” but that is so cliché. It was just love.

Credit for the characters named in this story:

Romeo/Juliet – Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

Annabel Lee – “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe