#gildedtm

     THE  WESTERN  SKY  IS  a vibrant scarlet,  clouds painted gold and pink crowning the fiery horizon where the shivering coin glows fiery hot as it retreats beneath the black curve of the earth.  Cicadas chirp from the hazy willow trees that look more and more human in the distorting hues of the last rays of the evening sunlight.  The beams stretch far and broad,  horizontal against the sky,  though unable to reach the darkening east.  A deep blue covers the zenith and cools into a violet hue that darkens with every step the sun takes closer to disappearance.  A single star sparkles in the sky,  the first stitch of the embroidery of all constellations.  

     The black chariot starts its ascent beyond the Underworld,  leading forth the pitch mists of the night to cover the sky like a silk scarf to shimmer in the moonlight with beads of stars sewed into the thin fabric.  Nyx is unperturbed by the world beneath her growing smaller and smaller.  She was,  once,  but now the grip on her javelin is light,  and her hand on the reins is easy.  Once she reaches a height,  the details of Earth are blotted by a haze and all she can see is the chariot of Apollo,  nearly flaming as he reaches the end of his journey.  Black eyes narrow on him,  and she tries to imagine what Hypnos might see in him.  He was born of the dark,  raised in the dark,  characterised by a soft introversion with a slowness to anger and an appreciation of that which is simple.  Apollo seems to be his inversion,  a whirlwind of complication and melodrama with a savage temper and insatiable appetite.  However,  whatever she does not understand pales in comparison to what she does :  the lovers of Apollo all share some accursed fate.  Whatever her Hypnos and this Olympian feel for each other,  it is nothing in the face of her maternal ferocity,  and if Hypnos’s tragedy be by her hand,  she would rather he loathe her for an eternity than suffer some despicable end by the stubborn decrees of her daughters.

“  my father is angry.   ”     head  rested  against  the  pillow , his  words  spoken  through  half-lidded  eyes  showed  little  concern  for  what  was  raging  on  outside.  rain  pounded  against  the  windows  and  obscured  the  view  to  the  rest  of  the  world , but  apollo  could  not  bring  himself  to  care  much.   thunder  shaking  the  ground  in  the  distance  was  nothing  but  white  noise  that  eased  him  closer  to  sleep.  

his  entire  worldview  existed  in  this  very  moment.  turning  a  blind  eye  to  the  prophecies  and  the  voices  that  coexisted  in  his  mind , apollo  focuses  only  on  the  god  that  lay  beside  him. he  refuses  to  see  past  the  shores  of  lemnos , and  even  his  dreams  revolved  around  the  god  of  sleep. he  has  wondered  often  if  he  were  merely  in  love  or  if  the  god  of  dreams  purposely  appeared  in  his  more  frequently.  he  has  not  found  the  words  to  ask , but  trusts  little  in  coincidence  and  feels  he  already  knows  the  answer.    “   do  not  worry , it  will  pass  and  the  sun  will  come  out …  tomorrow.   ”

     WRATHFUL  MAELSTROMS  RAMPAGING  AGAINST  the little island are not uncommon ;  in fact,  such is how most souls find themselves lost in the shimmering,  shining haze of that dreadful wood,  destined to a horrible death among the nightmares from deep in the recesses in their minds.  There is,  however,  a distinct difference between a swirling tempest,  a typhoon churning its way through the open sea,  and the anger of the King of the Gods,  and Hypnos has had many years to know the difference between the two.  He can still remember the years that passed during the awful Titanomachy,  his family asleep in the unformed Underworld by his own doing to keep them safe from Titan and Olympian alike.  Their primordial penchant to pick no side made them an enemy of both,  and Hypnos had been the only one to guard them, accompanied by his father,  who was naught more than a chaotic plume of darkness conjured from the Void.  He has kept his struggle to himself for many years,  dreading any glorious conflict that might sprout should he say a word of it.  

     The shutters in the bedroom fly open suddenly with a clatter as they hit the wall,  rattling loudly against the side of the house.  Hypnos is quick to jump out of bed and right them,  tugging the window up with a grunt and pulling the shutters back in,  fitting the latch together once more.  Rain blows inside, stinging Hypnos’s warm skin and making the sedona tile glitter with water.  He pulls the window down and locks it,  Hypnos lingers for just a moment to gaze outside. The lackadaisical willows whip about wildly,  so unstable he waits for them to uproot and fly away into the oceanic horizon.  The sky is moonless,  starless.  There is nothing out there but the dreadful storm.  

I need a 25 minute video of annabeth going into great detail about how the Egyptians built the pyramids

*throws apollo into the center of camp half blood and watches all the demigods scatter away like ants*

halloween treats: selectively accepting (mutuals only).