·˚ ༘ CELESTIAL ECLIPSE ✧.

ᅠᅠ⎙ᅠᅠ:ᅠᅠintroductionᅠᅠ꒰ᅠᅠhajun'sᅠᅠpovᅠᅠ꒱

The beneficiaries of my abilities, which ranges from humans to fowls, to fishfolks, vary their executions of gratitude to me. Some populated the nature's choirs so that their songs can accompany me during my traverse in their dwellings, and some cast monochromatic rainbows below the surface of the ocean as they assure my safety in the threshold of their patron, Poseidon. 

But these are natural designs —— smart as they are, creatures like those are wise first and foremost. They recognize the DNA of their hierarchy and extend their respect to their makers of their physical and mental bodies. Myself, included —— simply as a part of the troupe of immortals responsible for propagation. Though I have less of a hand in that, whereas my talent shines in the prologue of reproduction.

The insightful documentarian of the animal world often calls it: the mating ritual.

In a literal sense, I did not have the hand at creating the choreographies for every single race of mammalia, aerial life, and water dwellers. Rather, the raw inspiration is what I provided them with. A much more skilled figurehead aided them with the program —— someone like Lady Artemis.

But in metaphorical progressions, the audience that capture the spirit of the mating ritual often perform it on their two feet, with their two hands, and an accompaniment of some sorts —— humans entertain me so. Always had, always will. 

They might not sing like birds nor some dance like peacocks nor some invent a silent wavelength and get on with well like fishes perfectly —— but what makes these little mirrored ceremonies worth a watch are the episodes in between.

The pining.

The yearning.

The quiet beats between the folds of hopefulness and hopelessness.

The ebb that cushions the passionate flow, and cups the lovers spirit until their affections are returned.

I exist in the limbo between the lovesickness and passion, a liminal space where human emotions clash, and often try to make sense of things by substituting love for something else when the romantic emotion is alien to them, therefore fail them in their own pursuits.

One could say I am a soothesayer —— but where passion exist, there must be a voice of reason that does not discriminate or discredit a very humane sensation. 

Even though I am not human enough to begin with, the duty still befalls me and I obliged to see it through. For love is an endeavor that must not end in order for the immortal bloodline to continue existing in the ether, as tales of love often prevail, and thus, preserve my rightful place.

After all, in exchange, as Shakespeare proclaimed when his bones were still solid and his flesh sure as the iron in his poetry —— ❛ All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players. ❜ Sometimes it made me think he was a god in a disguise. If he is not emulating like one when he wrote his romances and tragedies with conviction. As if it was the truth fueled by his artistic blights of epiphanies.

I could not agree more.

The world was a canvas, and with my power, my hand often furnished the painter's palette with romance to saturate his world.

However, I must account for the unique nature of the human will, as some will often boast they could not be charmed by the appeal of love, even if "Cupid will die by his own bow and arrow just so he can make me love another."

Contrary to popular belief, I would have spared them the misery from my bow and arrow if they were to counter a worse fate other than love. The plague of affection often disguises itself ... Sometimes, it dons a human facade. Most of the time, it cloaks itself behind an inanimate intimate.

To name a few ... Money. Spirits and the tonics. Gambling. At worst, obsession.

Vice becomes the love they denied, and were denied of, in the name of hubris; dependent on an affection that has a cruel will to shatter the romantic essence.

They need not my arrows; my sympathy is sparing them from the weight of love that will burden them in sinful excess. I refuse to make them convicts of their own illusions about love.

Playful “Cupud” does not, and will not, besmirch the very thing that weaves and holds humanity together.

Love.

No hubris could withstand the supremacy of love.

Yet, sometimes I wonder if my own hubris can fathom the boundary between love and godhood ... Because what is godhood but glorified and sanctified hubris, generated from worship and devotion of the believers in the abstract and divine?

I am no Icarus, but if love truly is as radiant as the sun, can love scorch its bearer, its bespeak, its beacon if I fly too close and have a taste of iniquitious excess?

❛ Ridiculous, ❜ I said, shaking my head as the monologue suffered an abrupt stop. ❛ I would be my own antithesis, ❜ I muttered, setting down the goblet I was mindlessly swirling beside the hald-lidded envelope.

I drew a quick breath before I lie back on the armchair, fingers intertwined to aid me in the contemplation leading up to this point.

I don't usually dabble closely with human affairs. Those delicate, fleshy cogs are much suitable as amusement from afar. However, as I had written to my sister, Hae-in, I expressed the internal bemoaning I was blighted by when I am not satisfied with my performance; quotas that hardly inspire romance but cheap fix-its that I could not be any more repulsed by, among many contemporary horrors that kept festering day by day.

❛ Come to high school with me, ❜ Hae-in had written back, her enthusiastic cursive evident. ❛ Unless you have anything better to do, then I don't suppose what you're needing is not extra work, but leisure? The term "adventure" might dissuade you from invitation, but if you fancy to experience a sliver of hope in the mortal race, look no further than its youth! Surely the god of love will not feign cowardice upon receiving this invitation, will he? ❜

Oh, the ever challenging Hae-in ... I should have known better.

With the letter, she accommodated it with photographs of different characters, a few mortal baubles, and what look like notes with a variety of scribbles.

❛ Again, this is ridiculous. ❜

But my hand had already brandished a quill and a parchment paper, writing my reply to Hae-in in measured pace.

In seven days time, I had written. After summer break,your headmaster must be informed of my coming, and my lodgings be set before I arrive. Yet do not make haste —— I still have to delagate my erotes the protocols in lieu to the undertaking I accepted from you.

—— Sincerely yours, Yeon "Eros" Hajun.

ᅠᅠ⎙ᅠᅠ:ᅠᅠintroductionᅠᅠ꒰ᅠᅠhajun'sᅠᅠpovᅠᅠ꒱

The beneficiaries of my abilities, which ranges from humans to fowls, to fishfolks, vary their executions of gratitude to me. Some populated the nature's choirs so that their songs can accompany me during my traverse in their dwellings, and some cast monochromatic rainbows below the surface of the ocean as they assure my safety in the threshold of their patron, Poseidon. 

But these are natural designs —— smart as they are, creatures like those are wise first and foremost. They recognize the DNA of their hierarchy and extend their respect to their makers of their physical and mental bodies. Myself, included —— simply as a part of the troupe of immortals responsible for propagation. Though I have less of a hand in that, whereas my talent shines in the prologue of reproduction.

The insightful documentarian of the animal world often calls it: the mating ritual.

In a literal sense, I did not have the hand at creating the choreographies for every single race of mammalia, aerial life, and water dwellers. Rather, the raw inspiration is what I provided them with. A much more skilled figurehead aided them with the program —— someone like Lady Artemis.

But in metaphorical progressions, the audience that capture the spirit of the mating ritual often perform it on their two feet, with their two hands, and an accompaniment of some sorts —— humans entertain me so. Always had, always will. 

They might not sing like birds nor some dance like peacocks nor some invent a silent wavelength and get on with well like fishes perfectly —— but what makes these little mirrored ceremonies worth a watch are the episodes in between.

The pining.

The yearning.

The quiet beats between the folds of hopefulness and hopelessness.

The ebb that cushions the passionate flow, and cups the lovers spirit until their affections are returned.

I exist in the limbo between the lovesickness and passion, a liminal space where human emotions clash, and often try to make sense of things by substituting love for something else when the romantic emotion is alien to them, therefore fail them in their own pursuits.

One could say I am a soothesayer —— but where passion exist, there must be a voice of reason that does not discriminate or discredit a very humane sensation. 

Even though I am not human enough to begin with, the duty still befalls me and I obliged to see it through. For love is an endeavor that must not end in order for the immortal bloodline to continue existing in the ether, as tales of love often prevail, and thus, preserve my rightful place.

After all, in exchange, as Shakespeare proclaimed when his bones were still solid and his flesh sure as the iron in his poetry —— ❛ All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players. ❜ Sometimes it made me think he was a god in a disguise. If he is not emulating like one when he wrote his romances and tragedies with conviction. As if it was the truth fueled by his artistic blights of epiphanies.

I could not agree more.

The world was a canvas, and with my power, my hand often furnished the painter's palette with romance to saturate his world.

However, I must account for the unique nature of the human will, as some will often boast they could not be charmed by the appeal of love, even if "Cupid will die by his own bow and arrow just so he can make me love another."

Contrary to popular belief, I would have spared them the misery from my bow and arrow if they were to counter a worse fate other than love. The plague of affection often disguises itself ... Sometimes, it dons a human facade. Most of the time, it cloaks itself behind an inanimate intimate.

To name a few ... Money. Spirits and the tonics. Gambling. At worst, obsession.

Vice becomes the love they denied, and were denied of, in the name of hubris; dependent on an affection that has a cruel will to shatter the romantic essence.

They need not my arrows; my sympathy is sparing them from the weight of love that will burden them in sinful excess. I refuse to make them convicts of their own illusions about love.

Playful “Cupud” does not, and will not, besmirch the very thing that weaves and holds humanity together.

Love.

No hubris could withstand the supremacy of love.

Yet, sometimes I wonder if my own hubris can fathom the boundary between love and godhood ... Because what is godhood but glorified and sanctified hubris, generated from worship and devotion of the believers in the abstract and divine?

I am no Icarus, but if love truly is as radiant as the sun, can love scorch its bearer, its bespeak, its beacon if I fly too close and have a taste of iniquitious excess?

❛ Ridiculous, ❜ I said, shaking my head as the monologue suffered an abrupt stop. ❛ I would be my own antithesis, ❜ I muttered, setting down the goblet I was mindlessly swirling beside the hald-lidded envelope.

I drew a quick breath before I lie back on the armchair, fingers intertwined to aid me in the contemplation leading up to this point.

I don't usually dabble closely with human affairs. Those delicate, fleshy cogs are much suitable as amusement from afar. However, as I had written to my sister, Hae-in, I expressed the internal bemoaning I was blighted by when I am not satisfied with my performance; quotas that hardly inspire romance but cheap fix-its that I could not be any more repulsed by, among many contemporary horrors that kept festering day by day.

❛ Come to high school with me, ❜ Hae-in had written back, her enthusiastic cursive evident. ❛ Unless you have anything better to do, then I don't suppose what you're needing is not extra work, but leisure? The term "adventure" might dissuade you from invitation, but if you fancy to experience a sliver of hope in the mortal race, look no further than its youth! Surely the god of love will not feign cowardice upon receiving this invitation, will he? ❜

Oh, the ever challenging Hae-in ... I should have known better.

With the letter, she accommodated it with photographs of different characters, a few mortal baubles, and what look like notes with a variety of scribbles.

❛ Again, this is ridiculous. ❜

But my hand had already brandished a quill and a parchment paper, writing my reply to Hae-in in measured pace.

In seven days time, I had written. After summer break,your headmaster must be informed of my coming, and my lodgings be set before I arrive. Yet do not make haste —— I still have to delagate my erotes the protocols in lieu to the undertaking I accepted from you.

—— Sincerely yours, Yeon "Eros" Hajun.