The Queen's Irony

25

Apollo arrived home exhausted. He had been tired before, but never like this. His joints creaked with every movement and his head pounded with pain. He had decided to walk home from the "hospital", if they could even call it such. The building was really just a one story building with ten rooms and a cafeteria with a skylight and the gods (or at least the council) only began to call it such until after Adiya referred to the building as the "hospital" when Abellonia was first rushed here during the beginning phases of her fading. Whatever they referred to it didn't change the fact that it was a painfully long distance away from his temple. With every step he took he regretted not asking for a ride. By the time he'd gotten home, however, only fifteen minutes had passed. He looked down at the watch on his wrist.

7:48. He still found it hard to believe it was only 7:30 when he'd left Adiya and Hera to their devices. He walked up his driveway, a long stretch of pale concrete lined with a solar pathway of lights. The driveway led him to a large golden mansion. Its roof was tapered in the Spanish style old missionaries were known for and windows lined both the first and second floors. Palm trees guarded the entrance to the home, which was situated underneath a large oval balcony which led to his upstairs seating area. The driveway finished into a roundabout just before the pathway to the front door. In the roundabout's center was a decorated water fountain topped with a statue of himself. The statue watched him as he approached, dressed in his cloak and sandals, its left hand holding a lyre and its right hand outstretched to Apollo welcoming him into his own home. He examined the statue's features as they portrayed an older form of himself. Curly hair tumbling down in flowing locks and a long, straight nose. His face was smooth, not a sign of hair or blemish in sight. He was the figure of peak perfection, no aching joints or sleepless sights visible on his features.

His hand rubbed his chin absentmindedly. He could feel the coarseness of an oncoming beard and his back felt an uncomfortable ache he had never experienced. Feeling worse than before he walked past the fountain and into his home. Once inside, he rested his back against the door as it swung and locked shut behind him. His gaze lifted upward. In front of the door was a large hall, a grand staircase leading upward and halls on either side of it leading to the rest of the home. On either side of the foyer were large arching door frames leading into two enormous sitting rooms. The room to his left displayed a gorgeous mahogany piano while the one on his right exhibited a gorgeously stained skylight. As he took in the familiarity of his own home, an involuntary groan escaped from him and he slid down to the ground while his legs stretched out comfortably before him. From the ground he could just see the top of the staircase. A mirror, gilded with suns and ravens, was hung at its top. The reflection in his mirror was that of the upstairs sitting area. He could see the large windowed double doors that led to the balcony. From the mirror he could see his sun beginning to drop behind the horizon. If he was going to write, he needed to do it soon. With his condition he wouldn't have the energy to stay awake long enough to get to his own bed.

He picked himself up off the ground and slowly made his way up the marble steps, supporting his weight on the ballister. At the top of the steps he was ready to jump off the stairs. He saw his full form in the mirror. Unlike the statue outside, this Apollo had short, curled hair ruffled by the gentle breeze that was slowly dying outside. It was a reddish blonde, but he could see the streaks of gold beginning to grow. His eyes, usually a bright lapis blue, were dull and overshadowed by the dark circles under his eyes. He could see the stubble beginning to form on his chin. His toned skin was pale and though he didn't feel it, the way his clothes hung on him gave the impression of a malnourished body. He fixed his clothing fervently, sweat beginning to form on his forehead. Once tucked in he gave a resigned sigh. Mirror Apollo wore a baby blue button up shirt tucked into brown dress pants, which were held up by a leather brown belt with a gold buckle. Over his shoulders was a worn leather coat that reached down to his knees. His shoes were a pair of sand colored chukka boots. Even after repositioning his pants and untucking and re-tucking his shirt, his clothes still fit big on him. They even looked odd, as if he'd spilled some type of drink or army crawled through mud in them.