#the ionian dance

[galleryofart]

The Ionian Dance

Artist: Edward Poynter (British, 1836–1919)

Date: 1895

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Private collection

Description

The intimate scene brings to life lines from an ancient Roman poem by Horace. The central figure in the translucent gown is a young girl who has been exiled from Greece and the Ionian islands. She performs a native dance for her bejewelled Roman mistress, seen in the emerald dress reclining on the sofa. The richly painted background and tessellated marble floor, reflecting the dancing girl's feet, demonstrate Poynter's exceptional skill as a painter. The subject matter is painted in the classical style which was highly fashionable at this time.

1863 had seen the re-discovery of the buried city of Pompeii and for the first time excavations exposed magnificent murals, artworks and the preserved remains of the city's inhabitants. The city had been discovered once before in 1599 by an architect who stumbled across frescoes of such frequent sexual content that they were hastily covered over again and no more of the city was touched. After the 19th century re-discovery, artists were heavily influenced by the ancient Roman culture that had been tragically wiped from history.

The painting was purchased by the notable collector Robert English direct from the artist. Robert English was the son of a brick maker who made his fortune in the South African diamond business, later merging his interests with De Beers. The painting remained in his collection until his death in 1914. It was subsequently sold in his estate sale in 1915 and has remained in private hands since then.

[venustapolis]

The Ionian Dance (detail) (Edward John Poynter, 1895)

[peaceinthestorm]

Edward John Poynter (1836-1919, British) ~The Ionian Dance, 1895

[Source: bonhams.com]

[irellia]

ty for turning me into an irelia stan 🫶🏽 i never had super strong feelings about her before but now im fully locked in and love her lol

aw yay!! I ADORE her. She's such a fascinating portrait of an unwilling resistance leader who's lost too much and has been left with...nothing but her blade and anger. She is seriously one of the most nuanced, compelling and deeply tragic characters riot has given us. If they don't make arcane s3/the next chapter of their Runeterra saga about HER or don't give us MORE lore, I am stealing her from them

look at this COMMANDER. she is everything

Also my other favorite riot character is Caitlyn and the fact that this exists makes my heart happy

[bebs-art-gallery]

Fascination by Gil Elvgren ❦ The Ionian Dance by Edward John Poynter ❦ Femme au Tigre by François Martin-Kavel ❦ A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Titania and Bottom by Edwin Landseer ❦ Miranda by Thomas Francis Dicksee ❦ Edelweiß by Hans Zatzka ❦ Nifty Dream by Serge Marshennikov ❦ La Joueuse de Mandore by Theobald Chartran

[eirene]

Ionian dancing girl, 1902 John William Godward

[john-william-godward-paintings]

-Ionian Dancing Girl-

[1920sladydectective]

Value - 2K Angst Drabble

This one is for @uselessbard1031 who I rambled to endlessly last night. Thank you for entertaining me haha <3

Used third person and gave reader/oc a name to trial if I liked writing like this

Ambessa Medarda has known true love with her wife, and yet she underestimated the value of trust - losing what little light she had.

Warnings: This is an Angsty, Hurt No Comfort One with a Death at the End so please don’t read if that’ll upset you. Some swearing and suggestiveness but it’s not the focus.

She’d been gone for nearly three months and Ariadne was dreadfully bored.

She was not dependent on Ambessa for entertainment, nothing so ridiculous, but she did make everything more colourful. More red.

Having endless money and power meant that sneaking about was a thing of the past. The Medarda crest, solid gold, sat shining on her chest as she floated about rocky cobbled streets. There was nothing new, there never was, but she was not permitted to travel beyond Noxus Proper without her. Normally, this meant nothing as she was her constant shadow, the gentle, hypnotic pairing to her razor edge. But this time, with nothing more than brawling limbs and smashed skulls, her dangerous dance was not required. So here Ariadne was, eating the same old woman’s sweetbread four streets from the dock whilst yet another report was piled on her desk at home.

Ambessa’s firm hands ripped the leg from the charred chicken, dark eyes fixed on a tattered battle map. The uselessness of her scouts was astounding and would not go unchecked. They were essentially blind, running out of resources and fatigued from months of mindless, tactless brawling. The fact that it was in Ionia did not help, with plush swirls of magic and deception twinkling all around. She missed her wife, her etherealness echoed here like an aftershock determined to drag her back home. A few more weeks my love, her tired mind called. If she focused she could see the curl of her hair, the smirk of her lip, hear the lightness of her gasps. Ambessa had mutilated the chicken with her teeth, Ariadne the thing in her grip in her mind’s eye.

Books and scrolls were scattered across a weathered, creaking table. Most of the surroundings had been turned to ash and cinder anyway, with no viable way to hide or reposition. The only true way was left, which heralded their salvation. A way to hide, to act from the shadows, lined with the very resources they needed. It had been a debate for mere seconds, but her smog covered, silent tent reaffirmed that left was the only way to go.

It took two weeks of blood, sweat and fury, but the ground yielded to them. Emerald greens and pretty blues were tinged with a corrosive brown, the very core of the soil’s nutrients being harvested till the land began to wheeze and sigh. The trees here had a particularly hard, spiraling texture that made for a perfect building resource. Each thing they took strengthened them, Noxians rising from the ashes of their struggle with hardened, determined looks. The small, serene pools would cleanse themselves eventually, Ambessa reassured her officers as they tinted it crimson from dried Ionian blood. They were cleansed, restored and Ambessa once again thought of her wife, grateful she had been blessed with knowledge of such a place and sure of her understanding.

Ariadne was struggling to master where the sun would fall. She was a proficient painter, all mediums yielding to her and yet without her reference she was stuck. Her painting knife clattered against marble, aching back crackling backwards as she surveyed the scene. Her scribbles could wait, news had reached them that the battle was finally won. Ambessa would be home within the week and celebrations didn’t plan themselves.

It took her years to adjust to the boastful nature of Noxian victories, but now she relished in it with a ferocity rivalling Ambessa herself. Food, wine, glittering decoration. All of it to honour her Warrior.

Nights were restless, her own duties weighty when she governed alone. Each choice felt sticky, lingering as she honoured the fickle balance of the Noxian and Ionian within her. It felt easier now, nearly two decades after their wedding, to see how she merged with her beloved wolf. She was more giving, more aware of the dusting of people that coated their every path. Ambessa tempered her kindness with the lens of reality, dust was an endless, ever renewing resource and she could not aid and cleanse it all. Though she made these choices she was glad for her wife’s return. The boat docked early afternoon, a well rested legion ready to prepare for their welcome party.

Ambessa only appeared moments before the hosting would begin, which was predictable and infuriating. Ariadne’s body sang a siren song, pushing her into strong, certain arms.

“Hello, Little Moonbeam,” Ambessa said, eyes glowing as she pawed at her silk clad hips.

“Lupus,” She responded, planting a charged kiss to her cheek, “How lovely to see you after so long,”

Ambessa snorted, “I’d like to see you continue pleasantries when I bend you over and use you in front of all of our men,”

“Empty threats don’t suit you, you wouldn’t ruin my little soiree,”

“I might,”

“There is stuffed lobster and enough left over butter that you can lick it from my skin later,”

“I suppose I can schmooze for a few hours,” She conceded with a grin, hand squeezing her ass before wandering off to greet people.

Ariadne rolled her eyes. Her precious, silly woman. Commanding and brutal, with the tenderest voice in all of Runeterra. Champagne bubbles tickled her nose as music and movement enthralled her senses. This was a success, perhaps her best yet.

Hours dashed past, stomachs and hearts heavy with rich, decadent food and an overindulgence of spirits. Ambessa was practically tugging her back to their chambers, filthy words and wandering hands.

Sprawled half naked across their bed with pretty beaded clips carving into her head, she watched her look around.

“Where’s the butter then, hmm?” Ambessa bit at Ariadne’s raised ankle, looming above her.

A light, shining laugh pierced through the warlord’s heart as she shook her head, “Not yet, you always tell me of the battle first,”

“We fought, I smashed things, we won,” Her lips were frantic, impatient, nose nuzzling her ankle.

“Lupus,” She whined, “Please tell me properly,”

“Gods,” A grunt as she flopped next to her, mattress bouncing, “Fine,”

Ambessa’s storytelling was astounding, the fight a harsh mashing of colour and feeling hanging over Ariadne’s eyes as she curled closer. Gasps left her, pride burning low in her stomach as she envisioned her victorious, otherworldly wife conquering yet another patch of their little world.

One thing stood out, a confusing detail, “Where did you end up? The letters didn’t say, but clearly something changed the tides,”

Ambessa tensed, rationality returning slowly. Fuck. Yes.

Ariadne frowned, sitting up, “Ambessa? Nowhere bad I hope, you said there was lots of ash and destruction,”

A click of an unsure tongue, “Western Ionia, just to the right of the Grove,”

Her face dropped, eyes wide, “Was it safe? Please tell me you checked,”

“I preserved it as best as I could, Moonbeam,” Ambessa’s voice was so gentle, “I’m sorry,”

Rage curdled her very blood, “Those bastards,” She spat, “That was such a sanctuary and they ruined it? For a petty patch of land?” That was the Noxian talking, conquest, a necessary and easily accepted part of life.

“I know,” The warlord continued, “It was needless, if they had surrendered we wouldn’t have needed to utilise it,”

No, a hopeful part of Ariadne cried, She misspoke.

“Utilise it?” Her voice was even, eyes understanding.

“Yes,” Ambessa nodded, spurred on by her calm reaction, “It was the only way to ensure victory, the resources there were far more valuable than I’d realised,”

Valuable, the darkness sang, valuable indeed. “And this was clearly the only way,”

“Exactly, I told Rictus you would understand, we couldn’t retreat when we were so close,”

It settled on her, warm and weighted like a bath as it dragged her under. Retreat was an option, just not one acceptable to her warlord’s pride. Seventeen years of her life was draining away now, crimson as it leaked from her soul.

“I understand exactly, General Medarda,” Her eyes were dull, “Victory was secured,”

“I-Yes,” Ambessa said, face still and sharp at her wife’s shift.

“Such a small cost this time too,” She continued, venom sharp and tart, “A true relief, you have only lost your wife,”

Powerful shoulders twitched, any attempt at words flattened by the sudden onslaught of vicious, slicing words Ariadne unleashed.

“Your only boundary, your only concession was my Grove,” Spit and iron tainted her tongue, “I conceded all else, gave myself to you without restraint. I allowed you to kill my people, steal their land and destroy their traditions and in return you promised me that it would remain preserved,”

“Allowed me?” Ambessa scoffed, despite herself, bitterness merging with panic, “I do not need your permission, you forget yourself,”

“Clearly,” The shadows were turned on the warrior now, sharp nails carving through the skin on her thigh, “I never should have submitted to your obsessions, becoming another battered trophy,”

She growled, grip crushing a dainty wrist, “Obsession? I love you wholeheartedly and this is the thanks I get?”

“You wouldn’t know love if it choked your very soul from you, Lupus,”

She retreated now, too late, warm platitudes on those plush, devouring lips.

What a battlefield their bedroom would make, the landscape a No Man’s land of affection and betrayal.

Violent hands flung the Medarda crest across the room, a window shattering to beckon in icy winds. Perfect, true, poetic. The artistic side of Ariadne relished in the physical markers of her turmoil, each part of her breaking as their space devolved into ruins.

Ambessa dodged each projectile, with increasing concern. This was not the anger she had anticipated, there was no balance of wills here. Her darling wife’s eyes were wrong, black as molten tar as she obliterated their life together. No calling, no sweet words, no reprimands brought her back from the cliff’s edge. The rocky waves summoned Ariadne and she fell, willingly, into the vengeful murky depths.

Fury licked at her, hungry and strong, “You won’t even give me a proper fight, you destroy our marriage and then coddle me like a fool,”

“I don’t want to fight you,” Ambessa said, shoulders passive, “I want to listen, my darling, to help you recover,”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want,” Adriadne screamed, lungs full of lava, as she threw the ornate pollarm on the wall to her, gripping one herself “Fight me you Coward,”

Ambessa caught it instinctively, brow furrowed, “That is enough, Ariadne,” She stepped forward, “You do not know how to use that, you could hurt yourself,”

The precision of a painter, swift and true, sliced Ambessa’s face from nose to crown. Soft, curling locks drifted on the cold wind, blood seeping into her mouth. There was no transition, no gradual decline.

Ariadne lay face down on the silk sheets, with her arms painfully pulled behind her, a firm knee on her lower back to keep her pinned, “Are you quite done?”

She was no wolf, the woman towering over her ensured she would never wish to be and her adrenaline bled out. The result was more than she could have feared, glassy eyes observing the bombed out craters in her surroundings, her thoughts jumbled.

“Moonbeam?” It was so sweet, a hypnotic hum to soothe her and she let it, just for a moment, just to gather her thoughts.

Ambessa relaxed as her wife’s body went limp, crawling over her form and pulling it into her embrace. Her nose, now cold from the night air, bumped against her collarbone as she rocked and shushed her.

“Everything’s going to be okay, little one,” She sounded so sure, so certain, “You’re not going anywhere, I have you, we’re going to be just fine,”

Ambessa was right, she realised, she wasn’t going anywhere with a wife such as hers.

Ariadne couldn’t have that, Ambessa deserved to lose as she had.

Serene, with considered movements, she took the dagger from her wife’s belt and slashed her own throat.

The gargle was wrong, the pain immaterial as she felt searing pleasure at the warlord’s watery, desperate eyes.

Let your ‘love’ choke you, Ambessa Medarda.

Ariadne was finally free of her invisible cage, soul dancing off to a thriving forest where the sun settled just as she had imagined it would.

[a-bucket-of-silly-drawings]

Ionian yokai festival aatrox x yone au thingy????

yeah so. i was thinking, aside from talking and maybe hunting azakana (assuming that aatrox could see them), how could these two spend their time together. maybe, if there's a spirit blossom festival, maybe there's also some sort of yokai spirits-and-ghosts-only festival. think either tgcf ghost city or spirited away's spirit world. somewhere deep inside ionian forests, there's a field of red lights and invisible stalls, scurrying spirit merchants and strange ghostly foods and clothes from all over the darkest corners of Ionia. and just. the very stupid idea that yone brings aatrox to one of these festivals. they lie about aatrox - that he's some sort of angry bat forest spirit, and they get a pass. i don't think it's in their character to go around looking for attractions, so instead they maybe buy some food or clothes that'll dissapear when the sun rised anyway and sit in lonely places, watching after the liveliness of the undead and unforgotten of the festival, in their comfortable understanding silence. i imagine yone trying to coax aatrox into eating something. Yone can't eat human food, so trying some ghost delicacies was a breath of fresh air, even if some of them were outright weird. aatrox doesn't see the point. but tries it anyway, stupidly enough, he can feel the taste - but he doesn't feel so good afterwards. maybe eating ghost food when you aren't a ghost is a bad idea. and maybe when everything calms down, when there's fewer and fewer spirits left passing them, they share a dance under the red lanterns. aatrox is akward, he hasn't done it in this current form at all, and the black silken robe they bought him is getting in place.Yone is no better - he hadn't had the chance to dance at all before his death, him being the protector and an older sibling, always on guard, and then going after Yasuo after their master's death. so they tumble around. aatrox silently cursing his form again, and yone paying attention to what aatrox tells him a dance should look like. when the festival is over and they find their way to the forest yone currently called home, they think that maybe it wasn't so bad after all. Yone tells Aatrox that he looked handsome in black robes. Aatrox disagrees, unable to take the compliment, but can't supress a smile

[will-one-with-the-bees]

Who is Aristaios?

Aristaios is the Greek god of beekeeping he is more commonly known as Aristaeus (the Latin spelling), he is the son of Apollon and Kyrene and is god of many things just a few include beekeeping, herbs, cheese making, olive cultivation and animal husbandry. He was worshipped in Thessaly, Ceos, and Boeotia, but especially in the islands of the Aegean, Ionian, and Adriatic seas, which had once been inhabited by Pelasgians. He doesn’t have many myths (I actually am thinking of making my own for him) but the main one (maybe only myth) is of him losing his bees and it goes as followed:

Aristaios lived in the countryside of Greece with his wife and his hives, he would often harvest their honey and milk his cows to turn into cheese. However one day he realised all his bees in his hive have died, he was obviously devastated so he went to his mother Kyrene a nymph he didn’t know quite where she was so he went into a lake where she often frequented and cried out for her wanting to know what happened to his bees. Soon his mother arrived and told him he’ll have to ask the old man of the sea (Nereus).

Aristaios goes to the sea and finds the old man of the sea and as he and everyone else in Greece knew at the time he’ll have to wrestle the old man of the sea and come out on top to get any answers which no one’s has done before, so there was no pressure. He jumped in and grabbed the old man of the sea and the old man of the sea swam around jerking about trying to get Aristaios off him, the old man of the sea turned into many forms to try and lose Aristaios but Aristaios was determined and kept hold. After a while the old man of the sea yielded and now had to answer Aristaios questions so Aristaios asked why his bees died.

The old man of the sea explained that his hive of bees died as punishment for causing the death of Eurydice, which caused his bees grew sick and died. Aristaios was advices to make a sacrifices for Eurydice. He needed to sacrifice 12 animals (or four bulls and four cows) to the gods, and in memory of Eurydice, leave the carcasses in the place of sacrifice, and to return 3-days later. He followed these instructions, establishing sacrificial alters before a fountain, as advised, sacrificed the aforementioned cattle, and left their carcasses. Upon returning 3-days later, Aristaios found within one of the carcasses new swarms of bees.

(Eurydice’s death: Eurydice was the Auloniad wife of musician Orpheus, who loved her dearly; on their wedding day, he played joyful songs as his bride danced through the meadow. One day, Aristaeus saw and pursued Eurydice, who stepped on a viper, was bitten, and died thereafter.)

He then went back to his quiet life of harvesting honey, making cheese, cultivating olives and going about now and again to teach mortals these important rural trades which we still use today.

[reverieparacosm]

Art's Silent Language (Lukai Hwei x GN!Reader)

Warnings: none, just a lot of fluff :>

Chapter 1: The Color of Love

(part 2 here)

Summary: In the art studio, Hwei and you discover similarities in your works, leading to a mutual fascination. As you observe each other from afar, an unspoken connection begins to emerge. Hwei's assistance with your artwork adds tension, as you both yearn to unravel the enigmatic depths of each other's artistic abilities.

In the hushed sanctuary of the art studio at the Temple of Koyehn, a tiny Ionian island nestled in the embrace of the cerulean sea, Hwei stands before his canvas, brush in hand. Soft sunlight streams through the stained glass windows, casting an ethereal glow upon him and illuminating the worn wooden floors beneath his feet.

The delicate hues dances upon his face like whispers of forgotten dreams. His eyes, ever-shifting in color, mirror the emotions that churn within his soul. In this sacred space, where art transcends mere expression and becomes a language of its own, Hwei feels an inexplicable sense of belonging.

His fingertips, stained with vibrant colors, hover hesitantly over the canvas, as if hesitant to disturb the ethereal beauty that his mind's eye has conjured. A symphony of emotions swirls within him - curiosity intertwines with anticipation, while a gentle flame of excitement flickers in the depths of his being.

Hwei's gaze wanders to you, while you are engrossed in your own artistic endeavor. Curiosity sparkles in his eyes as he observes your concentrated expression. Recognizing your commitment to your craft, he admires the dedication and passion evident in your focused brushstrokes.

As Hwei watches, he catches glimpses of the artwork taking shape under your skillful hand. His interest piqued; he finds himself drawn to the subject matter that unfolds before him. With each stroke, you bring to life a scene that echoes the beauty of nature, much like Hwei's own creations.

The air in the studio seems to hold its breath as Hwei and you secretly observe each other in a silent dialogue of curiosity and wonder.

Hwei's heart quickens with an inexplicable sense of familiarity, as if the universe had conspired to bring you together in this space.

Noticing your intricate details, Hwei's fascination is evident as he gazes at your drawn bridge. He appreciates the craftsmanship, recognizing the sturdy blend with nature. His admiration widens at the skillful portrayal of the water's surface, reflecting vibrant water lilies and creating tranquility. The way you capture the delicate ripples, and the play of light creates a sense of peace, inviting the viewer to immerse themselves in the scene.

Hwei marvels at the lush foliage and attention to detail, bringing the natural world to life. The captivating water lilies, with their delicate beauty and vibrant colors, draw Hwei's attention, appearing almost lifelike on the canvas.

As an invisible force that defies explanation draws him closer, Hwei's heart stutters in his chest. Clearing his throat, he breaks the stillness of the studio with a voice barely more than a whisper.

"You...your art," Hwei begins, his voice trembling with awe.

He takes a hesitant step closer, his eyes locked on your masterpiece. The air between you seems to shimmer with an invisible energy, as if the very essence of creativity has woven itself into the fabric of your hearts.

You glance up from your work, your gaze meeting Hwei's with an intensity that mirrors his own.

What Hwei doesn't know is that you admire him. You have been observing him from afar for some time now and you see him as one of the best artists of your time. The way he expresses his art is breathtaking. But you have the feeling that he is holding back.

He seems to be hiding something.

He paints so beautifully. The inside of his mind must be a terrible place.

You study his work within the walls of your secret art sanctuary. Within the intricate brushstrokes and vivid colors, you discovered a hidden depth in Hwei's art. Yet, a sense of caution lingers within you. The last thing you want is to come across as weird or creepy, especially to someone whose talent and passion you admire so deeply.

As the allure of Hwei's art becomes increasingly irresistible, the secret admiration within you reaches a tipping point. The desire to confront the artist, to express the profound impact his work has had on your own soul, grows too strong to ignore. The time for secrecy and hidden admiration has come to an end.

But the fact that you are studying his art should remain your own little secret - for now.

He finds himself caught in the depths of your gaze, his breath hitching in his chest. You feel a gentle fluttering in the depths of your soul as you meet Hwei's searching eyes, a magnetic pull drawing you closer to him.

His eyes are a light pink with a mix of blue.

"Can I help you?" you ask.

"I... I've been watching you, admiring your work," Hwei confesses, his voice filled with admiration. "Your art is like nothing I've ever seen before. It's powerful, evocative, and it speaks to something deep within me."

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your lips, a glimmer of appreciation sparkling in your eyes.

"I've seen your art too," you reply, your voice gentle yet filled with sincerity. "There's a rawness, a vulnerability to your work that resonates with me. But I sense that there's something you're holding back, something you're afraid to fully express."

Hwei's eyes widen in surprise, his breath hitching in his chest. He had never expected you to perceive the hidden layers of his art, the unspoken emotions he had concealed within his creations.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you realize that you may have spoken too boldly, revealing more than you intended. The desire to confront Hwei directly about your findings in his art was not your initial intention.

"You can see that?" he says, his voice filled with a mix of astonishment and relief.

You nod, your gaze filled with understanding. "Art has a way of revealing truths, even the ones we try to keep hidden. And I believe that true artistic growth comes from embracing those truths, no matter how difficult they may be."

Hwei's pulse quickens as your words sink in. The invisible barrier that had held him back, the fear of exposing his innermost self to the world, begins to crumble.

"I've been afraid," he admits. "Afraid of being seen, of being judged, of exposing the rawest parts of myself. But seeing your art, feeling the connection it evokes, I can't help but want to break free from those chains."

"Art is a journey, Hwei," you say softly, your voice carrying a soothing warmth. "The crashing waves care not for who hears their roar, and towering peaks feel no shame in blocking the sun's gaze. So too should you refrain from diminishing your brilliance or talents to appease the discomfort of others. As the deep blue sea and high stone sentinels remain true to their nature without apology, so should you remain devoted to your authentic self without need for pardon."

With his gaze lingering on the canvas before him, Hwei's eyes shift hues like the ever-changing tides. With vulnerability in his voice, he begins recounting the pivotal moment that shapes his journey.

"I find solace in the art form known as paint magic," Hwei begins, his voice carrying a weight of both reverence and caution. "It is a medium that allows me to influence the emotions of those who behold my creations - a power that demands strict control and discipline."

He pauses, his expression clouded with a mingling of regret and longing. "The world doesn’t make sense, so why should I paint artworks that do? I find myself teetering on the edge of a precipice."

The human mind is truly the scariest thing of all.

The weight of Hwei's confession lingers in the air, carried by lingering words. Continuing, remorse tinges his voice. "During a demonstration for the temple masters, I have painted Koyehn's sea. I lost control."

Hwei's gaze falls upon his artwork. He studies the painting intently, his critical eye taking in every brushstroke and detail. The frown on his face deepens, revealing a hint of dissatisfaction with his own creation.

As he contemplates his work, Hwei's attention is diverted by the sight of birds gracefully soaring through the vast expanse of the sky. A wistful expression crosses his face, tinged with a touch of envy for the freedom these winged creatures possess.

Hwei absentmindedly reaches up to play with his hair.

The memory haunts him still, the tempestuous sea of emotions threatening to drown his resolve. "My awakening infuriates the temple masters," Hwei confesses, his voice trembling with fear. "They recognize the potential danger of such unleashed power. While they cannot bear to banish their heir, they emphasize the weight of my responsibilities, the need to temper my abilities."

A shadow of sadness crosses Hwei's face as he recalls the aftermath of that moment. "Haunted yet fascinated by the depths of my own power, I continue to explore in secret, under the cover of night. The fear of my full potential being exposed consumes me.”

Enthralled by the captivating sight of the iris flower beside him, Hwei's gaze becomes fixated upon its exquisite beauty. As his fingers brush against the delicate petals, a palpable sense of melancholy washes over him, causing his heart to sink. The vibrant colors that once adorned the flower begin to slowly fade, as if drained of their vitality by his very touch.

With a tinge of sorrow, he observes as the once-vibrant colors of the iris gradually lose their brilliance, their fading hues catching his attention. The petals, once bursting with life, now appear to wilt and wither, as if in response to his mere touch. Hwei's fingertips, lingering momentarily against the delicate bloom, withdraw instinctively as he realizes the unintended effect his presence has had on the flower's vitality.

Hwei, taken aback by the unintended consequence of his presence, quickly withdraws his hand, as if fearing further damage to the delicate bloom. A mixture of wonder and regret flickers in Hwei's eyes as he turns his gaze away from the fading iris. His gaze meets you again.

"I wish, they would only take as I am. For me, I paint because it makes me feel like someone's listening - or I am finally listening to myself," Hwei admits, his voice etched with longing.

There is a profound sadness in Hwei's eyes, a reflection of the burden he carries. He longs for the day when he can fully embrace his power without the fear of its consequences, when he can share his artistry with the world without reservation. But until then, he remains a hesitant guardian of his own potential, forever grappling with the delicate dance between restraint and liberation.

You listen intently, captivated by Hwei's tale and the depth of his struggle. As the weight of his words settles upon you, you feel a surge of empathy for his predicament.

You think to yourself; Hwei, you cannot make everyone think and feel as deeply as you do. This is your tragedy, because you understand them, but they do not understand you.

But you would never say that out loud.

There is nothing more intimate in life than being understood.

"Why do you share this with me?" you ask, your voice filled with genuine curiosity. "Why do you entrust me with the knowledge of your fears and the secrets of your power? Is there something you seek or hope to find in our conversation?"

Hwei takes a moment to consider your question, his eyes searching your face for a connection. A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips, gratitude mingled with a hint of relief.

Nervously, he touches his neck, "I think I fall a little bit in love with anyone who shows me their soul," Hwei whispers, his voice soft yet filled with a hint of longing. His gaze bores into the depths of your eyes, searching for that rawness, that unguarded essence that he so deeply appreciates.

Aware of the challenges you encounter due to your rebellious nature, constantly sketching objects that displease the temple masters, he understands the troubles you face. The thought of your provocative drawings excites him, as he admires your audacity and willingness to challenge the norms. Hwei finds comfort in the fact that you are unafraid to express yourself, even if it means facing consequences.

He pauses, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. "I have carried the weight of my fears and the burden of my power alone for far too long. But in sharing my story with you, I find solace in the possibility that I am not alone in this world."

Unable to resist the temptation, you finally ask, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness, "Hwei, would you... would you mind helping me with my artwork? Your skills are extraordinary."

Hwei moves closer, his footsteps echoing softly in the studio.

As you watch Hwei walking gracefully towards you, you couldn't help but be captivated by his exquisite beauty. What caught your attention the most is his stunning teal hair, a vibrant hue that seems to shimmer under the light.

Hwei's hair cascades down in soft waves, framing his face perfectly and drawing attention to his striking features. It was a color unlike any you had seen before, reminiscent of a tranquil ocean on a sunny day.

You notice Hwei's choice of attire - a comfortable loose tunic that drapes effortlessly over his slender frame. The fabric seems to embrace him, allowing for freedom of movement while still maintaining an air of elegance.

In that moment, you couldn't help but admire Hwei's ability to effortlessly blend beauty and comfort.

As he approaches, you could feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His proximity is both exhilarating and unnerving, stirring a mix of anticipation and unease within you.

Without a word, Hwei gently reaches out, his fingers barely grazing your arm before moving to rest on your hand. The touch is light, yet it sends a surge of electricity coursing through your veins. His touch guides your trembling hand towards the canvas, his movements fluid and confident.

"Let your instincts guide you," he murmurs, his voice as soothing as a whisper. "Feel the brush in your hand, let the colors come alive. I don’t believe that I am of much help, but I can try my best."

Hwei continues to guide your hand, a delicate dance unfolds. His touch is both commanding and delicate, as if he holds the secret to unlocking the depths of your creativity. With each stroke, your apprehension melts away, replaced by a newfound confidence that surges through your fingertips.

During your silent collaboration, Hwei's voice breaks the silence once more.

"I can feel your breath quicken," he says, his voice laced with intrigue. "You're becoming nervous."

His observation struck a chord deep within you, and you realize he has seen through the façade of composure you desperately tried to maintain. Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment. The realization that Hwei's presence has stirred such a profound effect on you only serves to heighten your anxiety.

As Hwei senses the nervousness radiating from you, he puts his hands on your shoulder.

With a gentle movement, Hwei turns you to face him, his eyes locking with yours in a soft yet reassuring gaze. He reaches out and takes both of your hands in his, his touch warm and comforting.

The connection between you deepens as he leans in closer, his breath mingling with yours in a shared rhythm.

"Take a deep breath," Hwei whispers softly, his breath brushing against your ear. His fingertips trace intricate patterns across your palm, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As the session draws to a close, your artwork now transforms, Hwei releases his hold on your hand. You turn to face him, your voice a mere whisper, "Thank you, Hwei. Your guidance... it's been an incredible experience."

A knowing smile tugs at Hwei's lips as he regards you, his eyes filled with appreciation and something deeper, something you couldn't quite understand.

"You have a talent within you, waiting to be unleashed," he replies, his voice rich with admiration. "Embrace it, and let it carry you to places you never imagined."

Just as you are lost in the flow of creation, a sudden interruption shatters the tranquility. A temple member, dressed in customary robes, rushes into the studio, his face etched with urgency.

"Hwei," the temple member calls out, his voice breathless. "You are needed immediately. An important matter requires your presence."

Hwei's expression shifts, surprise and concern washing over his face. He glances at you, his eyes filled with regret, as if he wishes he could stay longer.

"I apologize," Hwei says, his voice tinged with disappointment. "It seems duty calls. There are matters within the temple that require my attention."

You nod, understanding the weight of his responsibilities. Though a pang of sadness tugs at your heart, you know that Hwei's commitment to his role is unwavering.

"I understand," you reply, your voice filled with understanding. "Your duty comes first."

Hwei's gaze softens as he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush against your cheek. His touch lingers for a moment, as if imprinting the memory of his presence upon your skin.

"I will return as soon as I can," he whispers, his voice filled with a promise. "Until then, continue to let your art speak the language of your heart.”

With a final, lingering look, Hwei turns and follows the temple member out of the studio, leaving you with emotions swirling within you.

And, for a moment, you see the color of love.

In his eyes.

[fervonian]

some miscellanious headcanons for the dash today as a treat... maybe some of them won't be angsty.

irelia was primarily homeschooled. it is known in her lore that she received education for silk dancing at the placidium under zinneia's tutelage, but xan lito, her father, encouraged her love for reading both fictional and historical works. standard literacy and numeracy skills are taught to most ionian children, but irelia was raised at a higher standard.

in my canon, blade dancing ( kenbu, 剣舞: sword dance ) as a tool for war was a lost ionian technique that has been revived by irelia as well as ionia's school of silk dancing. the graceful and powerful dances of ionia's history were a tool to defend her people the whole time. as for the forty - two forms irelia mentioned, they have been developed over time by herself and other accomplished dancers during and after the first war. many are extrapolated from old texts, but all have been tested in combat.

incorporating irelia's tie in with life and death from her old lore, irelia did come very close to death in her battle against admiral duqal: the man responsible for the massacre of her family & village. that experience contributed heavily to her losing most of her brash attitude, her brush with death combined with her actually acknowledging just how many people are counting on her is what ultimately tempered irelia's self sacrificial streak.

irelia has a tattoo of the xan family crest on her spine. another way she remembers her family is by a custom crafted necklace. the piece is eight coloured glass beads with a thin gold chain threaded through them. after her relationship with liana, she would likely get a flower & sword tattoo on her arm.

aside from her signature flying blades, irelia is an accomplished sword fighter. she can also use the bow and arrow, albeit at a lower standard than she would prefer. the captain of the guard had undergone a lot of strength training in order to feel comfortable swinging a more traditional sword around. in kenbu, strength isn't strictly unnecessary but it is secondary to flexibility, endurance, and stamina.

[classicalcanvas]

Title: The Ionian Dance Motus Doceri Gaudet Ionicos, Matura Virgo, Et Fingitur Artibus

Artist: Edward Poynter

Date: 1836 - 1919

Style: Academicism

Genre: History Painting

[saey707]

hey i saw your post abt viego!! if you're willing could you do smth about him helping a (female) reader with low self esteem?? ty ♥️♥️

✿ Prompt: Viego adores you ✿

♡ champion focus: viego ♡ tw: none! ♡ Female reader

Author's Note: Hello, anon! I love your request and was super eager to execute it as soon as possible ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა Keep in mind, I tried to execute King Viego in this headcanon, but you can envision him as post Ruination if you please! Hope you enjoy! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

Your doting husband Viego worships the very grounds you walk upon. There isn't a single imperfection he can see in you, though, he can see very well that you don't feel the same way about yourself as he does you.

You saw the way people looked at you among the castle, the streets, and all the royal banquets and ceremonies. You heard of how people spoke of you, often with negative connotations and spite, because Camavor was not your home of origin.

It seemed like everyone believed you were out for nothing but power and a place on the throne of a domineering nation, beside an even more powerful conquistador, with the body of an Adonis and the hair of a fairytale Prince.

But Viego never once thought poorly of you.

He adored the curve of your lips, the softness of your smiles, and the selfless heart that allowed you to see the good in others... Even a man as arrogant and entitled as Viego.

Viego had hoped the little things like gifting you new dresses made of Ionian silk, jeweled necklaces, and gold bengals would be enough to allow you to see how beautiful you looked to him. However, materialistic things were never enough.

But your husband's innermost thoughts and the deep feelings he possessed about you definitely made the most significant impact.

From the day Viego discovered how poignant his words were to you, he made sure daily affirmations about everything he loved about you became a regular reminder. Never once would Viego allow you to think negatively about yourself, so long as he could prevent it!

He would serenade you with songs he wrote and distract your mind with one-on-one dances across hallways.

He would remind you of all your talents and why he fell in love with you in the first place over anyone he could have possibly had as a wife in Camavor... Well- Viego never said that last part, but still! While you stuck out like a sore thumb among the Camavoran people, that was only one more thing to add to the endless list of reasons why he fell in love with you!

Even though it was nothing new for Viego to show you physical affection, he still always did and would do more!

Viego removed his gloves whenever he dared to place a hand upon your soft skin, and he was always gentle as he caressed your face. He would begin by brushing his thumbs against your cheeks, dragging his fingers across the frame of your jawline. Then, his thumbs would graze over your painted lips, the hopeless romantic leaning in ever so slowly to capture your lips with his own in a passionate kiss.

He would listen to your woes and everything that made you feel lowly about yourself. And he would counterargue your insecurities, conquering them head-on and trying his best to allow you to see the good in yourself, as you so did with your others.

And if that doesn't work, he'll begin to open up about his own insecurities... As much as he hates to discuss his own fears and woes about himself, he knows you would never think ill of him. So why should you think ill of yourself?

The Camavoran King knows insecurities and low self-esteem are things that can't be cured overnight. But he hopes each and every day you know and are reminded just how much he loves you.

[charee]

hey i love love ypur art and your ocs so much they’re all so cute and i followed ur project from your twitter days, and i follow their spotify playlists! i am their boggest fan haha.. can you tell a little bit more about the worldbuilding your characters lice in, cause i remember you talking about their world surrounding different music concepts?

again i love your ocs and i cannot wait to see how your project grows to be!!

(SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I WAS TRYING TO MAKE THIS COMPREHENSIBLE… 😭)

OMG i’m glad you've followed me and my ocs this far ;;

i can't share a lot about them since i'm still working on them, but i’ll share what i have so far. keep in mind that the information might change

all of my characters are from sona, a music-based planet. there are a total of 7 subspecies of sonancians, and they're named after the music modes and are also based off of musical instruments

IONIANS

ionians of iona are the vocal-based sonancians. not only are they known for their singing, but they are also good at mimicking voices and other sounds, echolocation, and their keen listening (thanks to their big ears)

there are two types of ionians, and that’s:

land ionians,

live in caverns, coves, beaches, rainforests- generally tropical/wet climates

very social

cannot survive in water

and sea-ionians

live in bodies of water, like oceans, lakes, etc

a bit less social

used to be unable to survive outside of water, but now can in modern day

are more likely to have “air asthma”; carries around water inhaler

they are considered “children of sirens” because they easily lure other types of sonancians with their beautiful voices- like the siren animal that’s native to iona

contrary to common myths about sirens, most of them don't lure people in bad faith. they are soothsayers that predict events depending on what sirens sing. they and ionians get bad rep due to other sonancians believing that they CAUSE bad happenings, when in reality the sirens just foresee the future

dym (left) is a sea-ionian and a soprano. dia’s (right) a land-ionian and a contralto (and those are pretty rare!!)

random facts:

ionians like shiny stuff like jewelry. this is because they believe that it can extend their lifespan

they have a lot of medicines, but a common one that they're known for is the ones that help with healing voices

DORIANS

next up are dorians of doro! dorians are the dancers of sonancians, and are known for introducing makeup, masks, and sign language, as they use them to make their dances more interesting. dorians are within the top 3 strongest sonancians since their strength comes from dancing, but they are very protective about their beauty, so they try not to beat people up lol

i’m working on their culture at the moment, but if there was a way to describe it- their culture is full of celebrations/holidays, and festivales

mai is one of the few types of dorian. not exactly sure what type yet, but just know she is idol + gyaru themed and does not wear masks, more of just makeup

random facts:

dorians gift others face masks or any piece of their dancing outfit to show that they love them, platonically or romantically

dorians are more likely to have dancing stims that are uncontrollable. it’s very acceptable to them but to other sonancians it might be odd unfortunately

they do not eat meat!

PHRYGIANS

phrygians of phrygia are the percussion-based type of sonancians! the membranophone type of phrygians especially are within the top 3 strongest sonancians. i don't have their culture down yet, but just know that they have a lot of pride in themselves for their strength, bravery, and stubbornness. they live in hotter climates, like deserts, and HATE being in cold ones. they also like spicy foods!

rocky (left) is a membranophone type phrygian and kodus (right) is an idiophone type phrygian. both are cousins btw. fun fact, rocky, despite being fire-themed, does NOT like some spicy foods, and prefers salty/savory ones. they only eat extremely spicy stuff when they're stressed out though

random facts:

some phrygians break their horns intentionally and wrap them with colored bandages. they are seen as delinquents

they wear piercings and tattoos for competitions they've won in sports, groups they are apart of, and close ones they’ve lost

idiophones have these long tails that are similar to rattlesnakes. it usually rattles in different speeds and rhythms depending on how they feel. rocky used to have this but i've changed it since they're not an idiophone

membranophones shed their skin like lizards

LYDIANS

lydians are string-based and are known to be the tallest type of sonancians- and also the most gentle. lydians are primarily known for their fast growing hair; they also use said hair as strings for their instruments. in modern times, some lydians use serums meant to stop hair growth because of how tedious it is to take care of long hair

random facts:

has whiskers, like cats

lives in the forest, inside trees

some lydians have wings! they're kinda like bugs

lydians do not have fingers, but they can still do stuff like strumming instruments. i don't know how to explain this logic

can have multiple eyes and arms

does not have ears or noses

known for their fantastic agriculture and rare, tasty delicacies

like dorians, they do not eat meat. their diet consists of mostly fruit, but they also have vegetables too

soun (left) is half lydian (guitar type lydian but without the tall height lol). octavia (right) is a cello type lydian- one of the tallest type of lydian- and is 8’8

AEOLIANS

this one is personally one of my favorites. aeolians are woodwind sonancians that mostly live on the clouds of aeolys, but some can live in colder climates, too. they have thick wool, like sheep, to keep themselves warm. because of this, they do not want to be in hotter climates.

you're probably wondering- charee, if aeolians live on clouds, how do they travel from the ground to their homes if they don't have wings? well, aeolians can fly using their horns, made out of special “windwood”. they can also control the weather with those horns as well. think of it as like unicorns- but they don't make things appear or any magical stuff. there are fairytales and myths surrounding the theory of their horns being able to make magic happen though!

fantayza’s some type of aeolian. i think an ocarina, or a panflute

random facts:

aeolians have fluffy eyelashes

in aeolys, time passes by faster

their eyes and horn glow depending on their mood

LOCRIANS

this is also one of my favorites and probably the type of sonancian i would be if i were one

locrians are the brass type of sonancians, where their horns and nails are made out of brass and they make honking sounds. they are in the top 3 strongest sonancians from mining a lot, and are pretty stubborn, like phrygians. they are also known to craft things out of gems, stones, crystals etc, as locri is rich in those types of materials. cool thing about them is they live underground, and their home looks medieval themed

random facts:

their bodies are very flexible. they can extend, twist and turn, and stretch themselves out, inspired by how tubas and stuff look. it almost feels like they don't have bones at all

ionians have a good relationship with locrians for their materials

this is an outdated design; gio is some type of locrian. i have no clue yet but i'm thinking bugle horn right now

MIXOLYDIANS

mixolydians are powered by energy; they're constantly around light and don't necessarily sleep unless there isn't enough light. they're kinda like moths with lights. mixolydians cannot touch water, and produce tears and saliva because it can cause excruciating pain for them. if you're a mix of a mixolydian, the pain is minimal… but you do get hungry easily

speaking of appetite- mixolydians cannot eat regular food. they only eat digital foods converted from energy, so like photosynthesis. as far as the overtourism is concerned, that's the only big “issue” that drives people away. and to be honest, that's great news because… they need to stay away 🗞️🗞️🗞️🗞️🗞️

random facts:

when they cry, they glitch

they can change colors on command. usually used to indicate moods or for camouflaging

their voices are naturally autotuned

their tails have stingers, and it can go from minimal pain to LOTS of pain, depending on their mood. don't anger them

Z (pictured above) is a full mixolydian, and soun is half. as i mentioned before, soun gets the guitar part from lydians, so the other half of him is a sampler. overall, he's electric guitar themed! Z is just synthesizer themed

i hope that explains what i have so far! if you have any other questions about sonancians (or my ocs in general), just ask me :] i might not have the right answers rn or can't share too much info but i'll answer regardless hehe

[vverago]

THE WHITE CROW BURNS

By Vienna Godoy

A 2,357 word excerpt of my novella wip, We Sang in the Wood: A Series of Short Stories of Animal Myths, for acereadsandwrites on Instagram

Check outside my insta: vverarosa.go to see more of this work

Summary:

They say crows, beautiful messengers of Apollo, used to be as white as swans. Until, one crow is caught within the betrayal of her Master’s lover: Coronis. In return, Apollo burns her wings to ash.

The little crow shares her tale to a bevy of swans, whom are dying to spoil her secret, while Apollo hunts her sisters.

Amongst the rustling of the groves, a Raven catches the air. She violently dashes through the leaves with her feathers dripping with ink and ash. In the middle of the tangling forest, resides a dark pond hidden by the overcast of branches– only little pools of sunlight strike the water in glittery waves. The Raven crashes onto a tree, groaning at the pain as her eyes spot a shimmer of ivory. 

Across the wine ridden water, a bevy of Swans sing together in a haunting harmony. The dissonance calms the heart of the Crow, and urges her to come closer to their song. The Crow pants, creeping around the rays, meeting the edge of the pond. She cries at the beauty of the pale feathers that gleam without a speck of dirt. 

“Hark, snow painted Swans!” She caws loudly with her wings flapping, “Your beauty shines no more than the sun. You wouldn’t dare believe that I nearly shared the same radiance.” 

A few Swans glance at the little Crow, who wallows at the pondside. Her wings cake in the mud. 

One gave her a haughty laugh, “You? With your feathers soaked in the mud and burnt like ash? Of course we wouldn’t dare believe your pitiful, self-seeking tale.”

The Crows sniffs at his snide laugh as the others honk in laughter. “I only speak the truth as is my duty as a messenger! My wings were pure as yours, iridescent in the light! The Keeper of the Sun has cursed me, but I dare not speak his name! His light burnt my wings– Oh, how painful they feel!”

Her accusation earns their interest, and they crane their necks towards her. They honk and shout over each other, twisting to ask her for her story.

The Crow sighs, wings tucking into her gray sides. “Very well, but know that it pains me to tell! My sisters and I lived in the heavens where the gods danced in the clouds. The skies are always bright there, the Storm King hates to rain on his kingdom.

“Despite the plethora of gods, there was only one we liked to dance and sing with: the young boy of the Sun. He loved us! He’d feed us from his dark, sun-soaked hands. In return, we feed him news of the mortal word as his lips would kiss our crooked beaks lovingly.

“One day, I was flying through Thessaly when horror struck! A hunter pierced my wing with an arrow! As I tumbled through the city, I spotted the princess on her porch. Her hair was like midnight, as if I could drown in it. And her eyes were just as dark against her pale skin.

“The Thessalian princess smiled at me radiantly as I stumbled into her yard. She lifted me into her hands before stroking my feathers and kissing my head.

“‘You poor thing!’ She cried, carrying me into her room. ‘Oh, sit very still!’

“She had set me on a bed of soft quilts, nestling me like a chick, as she tended my wound. I chirped and cawed as the pain left. Once I was tended to, she cradled me in arms for the night.

“‘How lovely to meet you, little Raven.’ She whispered to me. ‘I am Coronis; I hope you shall visit me often.’ Once the Sun appeared in the sky, I flew back to share the young god with my news.

“‘Little Crow,’ He smiled warmly. ‘Your sisters shared fascinating news last night: stories of Ares’ growing wars in Crete; of a child with beauty akin to Aphrodite in the Ionian Sea. Yet, you were the only one absent! I hope your night was filled with tales.’

“I bowed, spreading my beautiful white wings. ‘My Master, my day was treacherous, yet my night was peaceful. Hark! See my wing as an unlucky hunter has missed his prey.’ My master then kissed my beak and wings in folly. ‘But, a young princess of Thessaly took me in and nursed me back to health! I owe her many thanks and visits.’

“He was so enamored by my tale, finding himself daring to meet the kind princess who cared for his friend. And so, mid-day, he carried me on his golden chariot to the beautiful city. I perched on his shoulder as we searched her garden, and finally found the inky haired royalty onto a stone stool– sewing a little scarf. My master transformed himself. Now understand, my pale friends, the light of a god is powerful! I nearly went blind from his beacon, but my feathers could stand the heat of a dying star!”

The eldest Swan honks, “A dying star! Well, no longer, can you now?”

The Raven’s feathers ruffle and her eyes flitter towards the little pools of sunlight growing through the trees. “Hush!” She shouts, whispering the end.

“And continue to heed my tale. The young god was immediately stricken by her beauty. His ambrosia eyes were glittering, and he nearly fainted in my wings! However, he rose himself up. His delicate golden curls bounced delightfully on his dark skin as he took a step to her. I immediately fluttered to my friend– cooing the best I could. The Thessalian princess smiled wonderfully at me, and my heart nearly burst from my chest as she kissed my head.

“‘Hello again, little Raven.’ That darling Coronis whispered. Her kisses ceased with her gasp. ‘Oh! You brought a friend.’

“I peek out from her neck, watching the sun god admire the sight. He smiles softly, a gentle regal poise that hides his boisterous godhood. I watched him bow to the princess, telling her he was the son of a visiting merchant– looking forward to meeting the king’s children.

“Coronis grinned. ‘There is only one, Young Master. And, she is I.’ She set me on the ground, standing with grace to bow. ‘I am Princess Coronis of Thessaly, at your service, Young Lord.’

“And so, the sun god kissed her hand and gave her a fake name: Ellios, after his old friend.”

“Our dear Helios!” A swan wept. “Oh, we knew his story well. That young wretched god took his home in the sky without any thanks!”

“Don’t you lie about my Master!” The Raven shouted.

“You are no longer his servant, little Raven!” The elder Swan stated. “He has casted you out, we can say what we please about him, and you can continue your story about him.”

The Raven’s feathers ruffle at his words, but she sighs. “Very well, I suppose I have no control of that nor does my Master. But, please!” She pleads, eyes gazing at the sun settling in the trees. “Take caution for my own safety! I can see his chariot searching for me. But, to continue my tale:

“My Master and Princess Coronis quickly became close friends, alongside my friendship with Coronis. They would flock in the fields, confide with each other in the garden. I would linger in their escapades, and my dear Coronis always found ways to include me. At night, when Ellios left, Coronis would keep me close to her chest and kiss my head.

“She whispered. ‘How I wish you could join me, little Raven, beautiful specimen. You always can find me, caring for me like a dear friend. Yet, you can never stay, wings cannot run.’

“I truly loved her, understand! I wished for the sun god to give me legs, so that I may run with them and kiss her hand like he does. He refused, dismissing me with a coldness like the dark side of the moon.

“Without a word he left, and I followed him around the world and back to Thessaly. There, the princess’s chambers, laid her and the sun god in gentle embrace– to my utter horror! He had taken my place upon her bosom! I fled, crying to my sisters, yet they only berated me!

“‘Falling for a human! You insane bird! Won’t that sun god have your head!’”

“And, how right they are!” The swans shouted. “Such is forbidden love, it could never be!”

“And, how correct you would be!” The Raven cried as moonlight drifted overhead.

“Those nights continued the same, until Coronis no longer had me as her nightly companion… Replaced by her new lover, that damned god, we grew distant. I fled to the heavens, distracting myself with my sisters’ follies.

“Until, Ellios called me to the earth, asking me to watch over his love– the princess– as she was full with a child.”

The swans gasp and honk in surprise!

“My reaction was just like yours! But, loyal as a bird can be, I flew down to Greece again. And, Coronis greeted me with kisses as though I never left. And, my Master was true! Her belly was swollen, her cheeks softened– pink as roses! She glowed brighter than his chariot dragging the sun! I watched her like a hawk.

“During the day, I watched her tend her garden as other men would bother her for her hand. Once I relayed this to Ellios, his face darkened, and he instructed me to return to the Earth.

“‘Peck out their eyes! Might they never see her beauty; only I deserve it!’ He cried, shaking me by the wings in fury.

“And, so I swoop down, plucking and pecking the pretty eyes of the princes and dukes who dare enter my princess’ garden. At night, Coronis thanked me every night with kisses. Her baby’s heart beated gently, and I would slumber to its lullaby.

I had fled far into the garden, where a large fountain rested. There, I wept with joy. I felt so free with my princess. But, my head swarmed, scared if Ellios would treat me as he does the princes. I wanted nothing more than to love Coronis. Tears of gold stream into the fountain off my feathers. In a bright flash, a goddess revealed herself to me! Stunning with rainbows, the darling Iris!”

The swans squawk in glee. “Oh, our darling Iris! Gentle goddess!”

“Yes! Yes! The goddess is so kind! She beckoned me closer, speaking sweetly, ‘Oh pretty Raven. Your sisters tell me of your troubles; I wish nothing more than to calm your worries.’

“My heart warms at the goddess, and I finally crow, ‘I love her! I wish only for her happiness! But, my Master is a jealous man.

“He lives in the Heavens, asking me to watch over her– angered when she expresses love for another or others for her, he asked me to remove her from their vision.’ What will you have me do, lovely goddess!’ I asked.

“‘Tonight, before you lay down with your princess. Drink the water of this fountain and look into the mirror. When you wake, you will find something new.’

“As she faded into the rainbow of the water, I followed her instructions: drinking the water as the sun setted. When I returned, Coronis greeted me with sobs and warmth. As her tears fell onto my white feathers, I nuzzled into her chest and pecked lightly on her cheek. Crying softly turned into lullabies.

“When I rose, the world was spinning. Her room felt small in my blurry vision. I glanced down at my Princess… Down? I asked myself. My crow feet dragged on the ground, strangely heavy. And in the mirror, just as Iris promised, wasn’t a little white crow… But rather, a girl. A girl with pure ivory hair and skin that would make any Greek woman jealous. The only thing I could recognize was her dark eyes, beady irises.

“When Coronis awoke, she screamed! I darted to her, shushing her, holding her hands. ‘Coronis! My dearest friend, don’t shout! It’s me! Your little Raven.’

“Coronis gasped, pulling me closer, ‘Little Raven? My darling bird?’ She cups my face leaving my heart pounding as she bores her eyes into mine. I watched her eyes grow before she pulled me close. ‘Oh my, my friend! What god has blessed me? Blessed us? Oh, what great fortune! Knowing you can now speak to me, I don’t feel as lonely. I dreamed of this conversation for years.’ We smile, lingering with stares, before I lay beside her and kiss her head.

“‘I’ve longed for you to hear me.’ I whispered.

“We didn’t leave her soft bed for the whole day; instead, we kissed each other and talked like long lost friends. I became her personal handmaid, and she called me Ischys. For weeks, I watched over my princess– finally able for her to rest on my bosom. I watched her belly, nearly due. My sisters would visit, questioning when I would return to share my news with the Master. But, I couldn’t leave my new body– not even if I wished.

“But, the peace could not continue as one night, when I laid with Coronis and she was kissing my new name into my skin, the sun god had snuck into the window. He shouted at us in rage, crying that one of my sisters had told him! Coronis begged him to stop, but the fury of a god is a powerful thing.

“With his magic, he stripped my arms into wings, and I watched his human form transform into a godly light. Coronis shielded herself, but his light began to burn my skin! It boiled and stung, yet I fled– as fast as my wings could carry me. As my wings dripped ivory and into ink, I stumbled into your pond. Where I now hide from his fury.”

“And Coronis? What has come of her?” The Swans asked.

And, the Raven cried. “I don’t know! I miss her so much, but I know in my heart she still breathes with her child!

“But, now you know. But listen closely, he now searches for my sisters because of my doing. Do not let him burn their beautiful wings! I beckon you, dearly beautiful friends, seal this tale from your songs! For their sake!”

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