the graciously gay greek gazette

apollo and cyparissus

    Our story begins in the forests of Cea, a small island in the southeast of Greece. Amidst the great trees, oft swarmed by nymphs, lay, simply, a boy. He was around the age of eighteen or nineteen, and considered the most beautiful boy on the entire isle. Shimmering blonde hair framed a round and youthful face, the paleness of which only brought more attention to his wide, golden eyes. It was as though roses sprouted on his cheeks, how red they were! Apollo visited him every once in a while, and their bond quickly grew strong.

    Stronger than their bond was the love he had for a stag. Cyparissus, the boy, was a child of wealth, and decorated the creature in more gold and jewels than he did himself! While the nymphs of the forest worshipped the stag, Cyparissus adored it. No one, not a soul on the earth, held the stag in a higher regard than he did, and the stag felt the same. The beast loved Cyparissus as Cyparissus loved it. It shouldered the riches the boy draped upon it with pride, holding its head up so high that its massive and epic antlers brushed against the highest boughs of the trees.

    Apollo once visited him while he lay with the stag, resting against its side as the sun slowly crept through the leaves and shone on his face. Of course, the god made sure it was a gentle awakening he received rather than a harsh one. When he fully came to and saw him standing amongst the trees, he smiled sweetly, still caressing his gentle friend.

    "Lord Apollo," He mumbled sleepily. "I'm blessed once again with your presence today." Under him, the stag stirred. It lifted its head and looked at the god with round eyes that reminded him much of Cyparissus' own. After deeming Apollo no threat, the creature laid its head back down, its jewellery clinking lightly as it did so.

    He smiled back at the boy and his beast and asked if he would allow him to sit with them. Eagerly, Cyparissus agreed, and gestured to a mossy spot not far from him. Apollo took the seat, resting his body against a fallen log, and observed Cyparissus. The sun reflecting off of his skin gave the illusion that his cheeks were made of the palest, softest gold, and his lacy eyelashes looked as though they were spun of the finest silk. Maybe they were, maybe this boy was made out of the most valuable materials on earth, or maybe he was simply made of flesh and bone and the purest heart. Apollo loved him all the same either way. How funny that gods could become so enamoured with mortals, and mortals so enamoured with animals. Apollo knew that nothing, not even he, would come before the stag for Cyparissus. That had been difficult to come to terms with, but he knew that in his immortal life he had never seen such a passionate human, and that Cyparissus was a treasure, no matter what he was made of.

   They lounged for a while, soaking up the light of the sun that Apollo so graciously pulled into the perfect position earlier that day. Cyparissus decided that he was bored, though, and produced a javelin. When he stood, so did the stag, and with a pat on the haunch, the beast trotted off into the woods to graze. The god announced that although javelins were not his weapon of choice, he would gladly watch Cyparissus practice his throws from afar. After settling, once again, amongst the trees, his eyes intently followed the boy. He used the weapon with such impossible grace that Apollo questioned whether or not he had godly blood. He was... exquisite. As he practiced with the javelin, the god's mind wandered. Poems and ballads flooded his thoughts, and the sun, mimicking his strengthening emotions, brightened. He was snapped back to reality when he heard an animalistic grunt, followed quickly by a blood curdling scream. His eyes focused and saw, yards away, Cyparissus, kneeling in a small clearing. Only his back could be seen from where Apollo lay, but when he approached, he could see the harm his sun had done.

    Presumably, the light had gotten into Cyparissus' eye, throwing off his aim. His javelin had landed cleanly in the stag's heart, killing him almost instantly. The boy sat with the creature's head in his lap, and he wept. No, he more than wept. Cyparissus wailed. His voice was steeped with absolute agony, the kind of cry that stopped your heart when you heard it. Apollo's stomach jumped to his throat as he took in the carnage that had been laid out in front of him. He called Cyparissus' name quietly, but wasn't sure if he could hear him over his own choked shrieks. His hands grasped around the stag's neck so tightly that his knuckles were ivory white, but his face was ruby red. The clothes he wore were now stained with the blood of his very best friend, his most beloved stag. Not even Ares could've pried the boy from around the beast.