Apollo flopped onto his large, fluffy bed. After working the sun all day, and wooing a man soon after, he was exhausted. He looked up, staring at his light blue Hyacinth. It's floral aroma wafting up his nose, filling him with peace.
He relaxed, his body loosing all tenseness it held previously. The beautiful flower had taken up a space on his bedside since his lover, Hyakinthos or more commonly known as Hyacinth, died in his arms. He held the original flower on his bedside, charmed to never wilt.
He often found himself admiring the azul colored flower, the color never failed to remind Apollo of his once lover. Staring wistfully for a minute, he got looked away if only to note on how swiftly he was needed again. His sun chariot soon needing to rise.
He gave one last, longing look before turning away. And if he were to admit, he'd swear on the Styx he could hear him wishing Apollo a happy life. His little bedside flower seeming to dance in the light his bright chariot brought upon Olympus.
How is it? IDK if it's good but it's not horrible? Anyway, decided to write about an old, tragic greek tale. Loved the flowers and honestly, I kinda see Apollo saving his beloveds flower form in his room. Apollo is always sorta depicted as a hopeless romantic when it comes too Hyacinth. Hope its not too short.
