Did you not swear that you would never let your loved ones cry for you?

You liar. You lying bastard.

Look, look at your lover. He is crying for you, amber tears wetting his flushed cheeks and rolling down your bloody face as he holds you in his arms, the damned discus discarded by your side. The god of light is extinguished by his agony like a candle that almost fell into the void. Almost. Because he is still a god, the darkness of the Underworld cannot kill him and allow him to reunite with you, no matter how much he screams and begs.

Look at your sister. You promised to take her swimming in the Eurotas River when the days are hot. Tomorrow is the first day of summer, how could you break your promise? The princess of Sparta collapses when she sees your paled corpse in the field. She screams until her throat is raw and her heart is torn and digs her nails into her arms until blood begins to drip from the scratches, all just to make her realize it isn’t a dream. She has truly lost you.

And look at your dear mother, your long-suffering mother. Was from the moment she gave birth to you, she already doomed you to a premature death? Or was your early and painful end already set in stone from the moment your mother chided the goddess of love? Yet you love your mother so much, that even in death you never once blame her. You only wish to reach out and wipe away her tears as she falls on her knees, about to faint upon receiving the terrible news.

You liar. You lying bastard.

Look how you’ve made them cried for you. Look at what you’ve done. You’ve hurt them.