Apollo

The sun was already touching the horizon when Apollo was alone once again. He stood at the water's edge, and even his solitude seemed beautiful: his golden locks illuminated by the sunset, his perfect features that made birds freeze in their flight. People said Zeus himself had sculpted him from clay mixed with the dawn. But they didn't know the truth.

Every time Apollo reached for another's heart, disaster struck. The first nymph drowned in the river, blinded by his radiance. The second lover, a mortal poet, fell to his death, tripping on level ground when Apollo smiled at him. The third... he forbade himself to remember him. The curse, cast by an old rival, read: "Your beauty is poison. Anyone who loves you in return will drown in their own shadow. "

"Today he buried the fourth. And yet, standing over the cliff, Apollo caught himself in a strange feeling. He didn't cry. He looked at his hands, which destroyed all living things, and... smiled. Even in this drowning grief, his lips remained flawless, and his eyes shone like two damned suns.

• Well, let's see who dares to approach me now.

The wind ruffled his golden hair, and below, in the city, someone looked up and met his gaze. Apollo froze.

— The sun shines for everyone, but can anyone find happiness in it?

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