The Love Thief

As the sun lies down to sleep, figures dance across green fields dotted with daffodils. Twisting and turning, they meet in the evening’s cool breeze. Staring into each other’s eyes, they feel the weight of the universe bear down on their hearts. The shaking in their knees makes them shiver in the summer air. They enter each other without care as they stare into each other’s souls. In love with each other’s drawing gaze, as time scrolls by, it turns to a haze.

Misshapen Aquarian animals chase the dying light. Orion strings his bow as Apollo hides his face. Saturn slithers after Mars and Jupiter upon a mercurial path—dreams scattered across a black canvas. Serene gods look upon mere mortals praying to them in vain, for every pleasure and pain.

The moon swoons for the stars. They chase the fireflies as they disguise their feelings for each other. They flutter across pitch black fields like butterflies escaping cocoons. Two hearts swarming in the night, feeling the fright of something new.

Spinning and weaving tales, their stories bleed into each other until they are one. They rub the kindling together until it ignites the night. Stroking and stoking the flames until they no longer control their roar. They grasp the floor and hold each other for more.

The night fills with the light of their love. Wings fluttering and lungs panting, as they continue dancing to the silent tune of each other’s heart. The heat melts his copper, and warms her tin as their love mixes in. The forge is engorged to the brim, as the molten metal drips to the earth. Their passion takes hold as they pour themselves into the cool of the mold. Its form begins to take hold as the cold of the ground surrounds its shape.

They look down, and behold the statuette they crafted in the cool red earth. It shines with the light of the love they poured into it. She pulls it to her breast. The warmth radiates through her body as their offspring rests in her arms. He stares on, watching her hold their creation. An amulet, a love charm—the physical embodiment of the passion they share.

He envelops them both in his arms to shield away the cool obsidian breeze. Owls watch from the edges of the hedges, keeping their pledges to Athena. Elves dance in the light of delight at the sight of the newborn child. They smiled as they went wild for the new addition to the world. Picked and piled gifts for the prince of the night.

The dwarves scrapped and scrounged their mines for any trinket that came to mind. A spool of wire to wind and unwind. A golden ax, perhaps? No, no, no. Much too dangerous for one so young. Ah, yes, this will do. A mighty shield and heavy breast for when the boy has a broad chest.

But in the darkness, jealousy grew and grew, like an overflowing stew. For one who formally knew the touch of the crimson king. The one whom he overlooked when he was young. A golem born of cruel reality. A love hidden. A love forbidden by their incompatible natures. A dark heart sutured from its former parts.

Swallowed by grief. There came a love thief. Creeping and crawling across the ground without a sound. The kind of silence only a flea hears. Long, overgrown nymph ears swooped back against long tan hair. Overgrown nails pawing the ground, as the earth bleeds between interdigital spaces. A long, exaggerated face drooling with greed. A need for others to feel its pain.

The mother lays the babe down to rest as she joins the festivities. She does not see the creature squatting on hand and knee. She turns to the light of the roaring fire. Full of satiated desire.

With feline silence, the creature leaps from the darkness. With a swoop and a swoosh, it stows the babe in its pouch and makes for the bush. Off to the cliff for the final act of the rift. Bats cry, and raccoons tug and tug at the king’s cloak. He wheels around to see the sliver of shadow vanish into the forest as their chorus howls through the night.

Poseidon’s children thrash and crash with rage at the vengeance brought upon the babe. It has no stake in this lovers' feud. Slashing and flailing the woods, the king looks on in horror as the creature that holds his bronze boy by the head, hanging and dangling in the air. For a moment, he stares. But without care, he darts through the air. But he is too late, her hate is too great.

He dives down, down. Plunging to the depths of his death, as she pulls back on the cord of life.

“Shh, shh, little one, not all is strife,” she assures the child as she strolls away, waiting for the break of day.

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