The sun was rising. A rising disc that turned the sky the color of blood and spread fingers of light across the isle of Naxos .
Quiet, whispered curses.
"Damn you, Theseus," she hissed. Then, louder: "Damn you!"
As she stood heartbroken, a… presence touched her shoulder, and a deep voice resounded through the clearing. "You are my chosen bride," it said. A male, she supposed, as her tear-stained face whipped from side to side. "Theseus left because I told him to."
She barely registered the words. A weight settled on her head, much the same as that of her crown as a princess.
"I give you this crown of stars," the voice continued, "to show my love for you." And there he was, a man with a short black beard and a wine-stained chiton.
She didn't look up. His eyes, sad and deep, surveyed her. "Follow," he commanded. He began walking. Without speaking, she followed. As she left the grove, she cast one last despairing glance at the clearing.
She turned her eyes back to the ground. A whisper drifted through the olive grove.
"Damn him."
Far away from Naxos, an old man stood, high on a cliff like a bird of prey. Watching the sea. Watching a ship that grew ever closer. The sails were black. He grieved silently, his beard whipping in the wind.
He threw himself over the side.