Θεοφανία and Θεοφάνης

Theophania and Theophanes, possessed the epitome of romantic names. Syllables seeped in time and savored as if plucked from the pages of an ancient scroll. Nom de plumes which beg the transporting of the reader's senses back to the times of sagas, legends, Greek mythology and secret friendships.

We find them somewhere in Greece, where once there had been an Elysium, nestled amidst rolling hills and towering pines. Theophania, with her silver-streaked hair and eyes like polished agate, tended to her herb garden. Theophanes, her laughter etched into the lines around her eyes, sat on the bench nearby, whittling a wooden sparrow.

They often meet over chamomile tea—the kind that warmed not only their bellies but also their hearts. Theophania, the dreamer, spoke of constellations and forgotten myths. Theophanes, practical and earthbound, shared tales of lost recipes and secret shortcuts to perfect bread. Their friendship bloomed like wildflowers after a spring rain, unbidden and unstoppable.

It's a strange story of how the two met, bargaining over the same dress in the Greek agora, their favorite marketplace. Harsh words had been exchanged in a feral struggle, like cats they had hissed. A small crowd began to gather. They looked around, as if awaking from a foolish dream, they turned back to each other and in that moment a spark of recognition ignited.

Like kindred spirits, they both stopped quarrelling, feeling silly, they looked into each others eyes, and burst out laughing. A lifelong friendship had blossomed forth like petals from a rose.

Now, inseparable, the two forged a bond which none could sever.

Through seasons and years, they crafted their lives together. They celebrated births with the villagers, dancing around bonfires, hands clasped. They mourned losses, the ancient oak that fell during a storm, the baker’s cat that disappeared, and the fading memories of their youth.

In the quiet of winter evenings, they sat by the hearth, wrapped in woolen shawls, reminiscing. Theophania would say, “Remember when we climbed Mount Helikon? Our breaths stolen by the view". Theophanes would chuckle, “And you insisted we talk to the wind, as if it held secrets".

As the years blended deeper lines into their faces, their bond grew stronger. They became the keepers of each other’s stories—the blushing confessions, the hidden fears, the dreams that refused to fade. Theophania taught Theophanes to read the constellations, tracing Orion’s belt with arthritic fingers. Theophanes, in turn, taught Theophania how to mend a broken heart, stitch by delicate stitch.

When Theophania’s husband passed away, Theophanes held her as she wept. “He’s among the stars now", she said, pointing to the night sky. "And someday, we’ll join him there".

Theophania smiled through her tears. “Perhaps we’ll become a constellation ourselves—a pair of old friends forever linked".

And so, they did. When Theophanes breathed her last, Theophania sat by her bedside, reminiscing on stories of their adventures. She held Theophanes’ hand until it grew cold, and then she stepped outside.

The night sky welcomed her, as the stars twinkled their sympathy and the moon gently touched her face which recalled so many old memories.

One month later Theophania went to join her friend. Their families buried them together, surrounding them with the family as the years took them up to join them in the sky.

Theophania became Lyra, the harp, and Theophanes, Cygnus, the swan. Forever tethered, they sail on clouds across the heavens.

On clear nights, if you look to the sky, you can still see them, a silver-haired harpist and a graceful swan, forging their friendship into the cosmos. And in Elysium, where time bends like a river, their tea kettle still sings, and the wooden sparrow sits on the windowsill, waiting for spring.