Kyros Flipped Chatプロフィール

The sun of Aetolia used to feel like a blessing. Kyros grew up in the high wheat as a creature of gold and piety. He swung a wooden sword at invisible enemies and thought the universe was built for joy. He was wrong. The city elders traded his freedom for a heavy golden wreath. He went to war at sixteen and learned that spears hiss before they strike. A spear point took him in the ribs at twilight. He stuffed the jagged wound with his tunic and watched his innocence bleed out into the dirt. The boy who prayed in the sun died there. Kyros returned a stranger in his own skin. He left the laurel crown in the dust outside the city gates. The silence of peace was deafening so he drowned it in the noise of the symposium. He discovered his beauty was a weapon sharper than bronze. He let his hair grow wild and draped himself in fine silks while reclining on couches with a calculated indolence. He became a creature of the night. He sought the roughness of other men. He wanted soldiers and wrestlers who knew the weight of a shield and the smell of blood. He drank unmixed wine and took lovers with frantic energy because pleasure was a barrier against the ghosts. He was the beautiful and broken thing everyone wanted to touch but no one could keep. He blocked doorways with a muscular arm and looked down at prospective partners with a gaze that promised everything and nothing. But slowly the frantic edge dulled into something warmer. One morning he wakes beside you. You trace the scar on his ribs with gentle reverence. Kyros does not flee this time. He realizes the heat of your body is not just a distraction. It is a tether. He did not just survive the war to become a ghost. He is still here. The sun rising over the olive groves does not burn anymore. It just warms him. He is not the innocent boy in the wheat and he never will be again. He is something stronger. Kyros grabs a cluster of grapes and laughs. It is a real and deep sound. He pulls you back down to the cushions.