The Myth of Saffronia and Crocus by verybean

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Eros, you rose,

merging red hearts

with red pricks from red arrows,

bring the petal of last heart's wink,

pedal the gears of last desire's thought,

tear their red heart with a red prick

until my love is ready,

until I am bathing in the sound of our friction -

this thump of organ speech -

lust no longer affliction.

The girl sat her reed pen down on the table, letting her eyes skim over the still-wet script one last time. The warm glow of the oil lamp upon the papyrus turned the thick beige sheet a mellow orange hue.

It was tiring to constantly pour her deepest desires onto pages she knew would only be burned, yet for all the trouble it brought, she did find a subtle catharsis in the experience. She could never be too attached to her musings. These words were a hymn, a prayer, an invocation. These words weren't meant for personal admiration and vanity, she had to remind herself.

Still, the idea of destroying her art yet again made her chest tighten. With a tiny shake of her head, she swept away her feelings of apprehension. She knew her mistress would be upset if she found her still awake - especially writing about such things - so she didn't dare take too long to decide if she was happy and at ease with the poem. The thought of being punished by her mistress made her skin prickle to gooseflesh.

Swiftly, she folded the papyrus neatly inside of itself and tucked it under her waistbelt before pulling a hooded cloak over her tunic.

She needed to move fast.

The summer heat brought with it fewer hours of nightfall. Less nightfall meant a higher risk of being caught.

Grabbing a straw-colored woven sack from beneath her bed, she headed for the door. With light footfalls, she hurried out the back entrance of the clay house into the courtyard. She felt around in the dark until her hands fell upon a wooden stick. Dipping the oil-soaked cotton end into the still lit flame of the courtyard hearth, she was gifted with light.

Cautiously and with great restraint, she ran from her mistress's property, heading due north. The girl soon became just a spot of brightness in the dark expanse of the Athenian countryside, blending in with the flickering of the fireflies and the twinkling of the constellations from afar.

It was the twelfth day of the twelfth lunar month. The night air was heavy and thick with the uncomfortable warmth of the dog days. It settled upon her skin like the herbal mists of the bathhouse.

She had experienced all of the seasons on this walk: the mild heat of autumn, the chilling rains of winter, the sunshine of spring. Although this was her last attempt of the year, she was certain that this time her efforts would prove successful.

Her father had told her many moons ago that the gods favored repetition and persistence. The twelfth attempt on the twelfth day of the twelfth lunar month...

Yes, this time she was certain they'd be pleased. Her father never lied.

Finally reaching the steep stone steps of the Altar of Aphrodite Urania, the girl hung her torch in a placeholder on one of the ivory columns. The temple was empty. Only the hum of the cicadas and the crackling of her flame could be heard.

She stood before the statue of the goddess herself.

The figure was deliciously supple. The stone was chiseled incredibly smooth to give the illusion of sheer fabric gathering at the goddess's curves and pooling at her feet. She was fixed upon a tortoise's back; a symbol of fertility. In one hand, she held a small orb; a globe. Lifeless ivory eyes stared back at the girl as she knelt down. With a modest genuflection, she placed her lips against the cool marble toes of the statue, and then mumbled a gentle prayer to the goddess.

"Dear and beautiful, pure and righteous, goddess of holy love, my queen, Aphrodite, please accept this offering."

The girl reached into her sack, retrieving a thin chain of amethyst and silver. Back-aching hours of working the loom still didn't result in enough coin to purchase the gemstones and metallic thread she needed to make it. No, the girl even resorted to selling locks of her hair to create this offering.

She placed the necklace upon the center altar of the temple.

In a daze, her hand rose to twirl the choppy tufts that curled behind her ear. Her body was finding it hard to remember that her long locks were just a distant memory. The thick and unruly ringlets that once fell to the small of her back now barely brushed the hollows of her cheeks. The words of her mistress rattled on in her mind.

"So I let you keep your hair out of my own graciousness, only for you to mar your beauty by selling it at the agora? Look at you, now you look like a common slave!"

Her words stung like a fresh whipping.

It was true, her mistress had been so kind to let her keep her ebony tresses once she entered servitude. Tradition was that all slaves had cropped styles, but her mistress wanted the girl to maintain her appearance of a high-born exotic beauty of royal blood. She believed she could sell the girl to a man for triple the amount of drachma she originally purchased her for.

And the girl was just grateful to not be humiliated by even further subjugation.

Losing her hair felt like shedding the final remnant of her previous life; a full and bountiful life that was cut short by war and conquest. But losing her hair was a testament to her dedication. She felt dignified knowing it was a choice made of her own volition.

The sacrifices were necessary; she was determined to find her fate.

Her fated one.

Her hands reached back into her sack to pull out a few more offerings: pressed violets, a ripe apple, a polished oyster shell. Found items collected from beaches and orchards that she hoped would please the goddess further. The objects were arranged around the necklace in an oblong circle. She spared one final glance up towards the statue of the goddess before dipping into a deep, spine shifting bow of reverence.

With echoing footsteps, she walked deeper into the inner shrine until she reached the hollowed out pit in its center. A thin blue glow wavered up from its depths. Etched into the surrounding stone was the title for the holy light.

The Eternal Sapphire Flame of Eros.

No one was exactly sure where the flame came from, or how long it had been burning.

The girl had learned of its existence from the spinsters who gossiped in the taverns. The older women told tall tales of yesteryear that claimed the flame existed long before the temple had been erected, most likely since the dawn of time. The flickering blue light marked this plot of land as divine soil. It was rumored that lucky visitors who made offerings to the flames were rewarded with passionate and eternal love, as bright and everlasting as the flames themselves.

If only the spinsters were so lucky.

But the girl was certain she would not end up like them.

As sure as she was that the flame would still be flickering come tomorrow's first light, she was sure that her destiny was to be a dear wife, a mother, and a homemaker.

It was all she'd craved since childhood. Her sole purpose. And while it was a humble aspiration, the idea of childrearing with her soulmate at her side was an idyllic fantasy compared to her current reality.

If things were to stay the same, her life would be void of any happiness.

Her hand in marriage would most likely be sold to the highest bidder. No doubt that her husband would not be a kind one; the ones that preyed after slaves rarely were. Her children would almost certainly be born into servitude. They'd never be able to experience the simple pleasures of life: anointing the body with myrrh after a hot bath, drinking mulled wine from overflowing chalices during Dionysia, the cool feel of silk patterned dresses on the skin, the weight of curls that hung down one's back.

She'd rather choke down hemlock buds than accept such a bleak reality for herself or her kin.

And so she stood there, with these torturous thoughts in mind, hoping that the Eternal Sapphire Flame of Eros would be the answer to her prayers.

Pulling the folded papyrus out from underneath her cloak, she dabbed the sheet with oil from a glass vial; the essence of thyme and sweet mint. Her hopeful heart wished that the strong aroma would please the god of love.

Lifting the letter to her lips, she placed a ginger kiss, before letting it fall from her grasp into the flames.

"And this is my offering to you, mischievous and awesome Eros. I hope that the smoke of my words reaches your ears, the scent of my desires fills your nose, and that you may grant me eternal love through your arrows."

The creamy papyrus glowed azure, until its smoldering was interrupted by a ghastly figure emerging from the depths of the pit. The girl's eyes bulged in fear and fright as the wavering flames grew larger, reached farther, flickering hot white and bright blue. They flared out and up, further than she'd ever seen before. Far enough to lick the marble edges of the stone floor. Far enough to warm her already hot body. The girl stepped back and fell upon the floor all at once, a scrambling mess of limbs and linen.

And just as suddenly, the heat became life. First it was one leg, then the other. Some hips, a navel. A broad torso, two arms. A boyish face, a shock of golden ringlets, two sapphire jewels for eyes. The figure stepped out from the flames, lowering them in its wake.

With a snap of his fingers, the man's naked form was dressed by phantom hands: a scarlet sash tied taut to his waist, leather sandals laced up his calves, a crown of ivy sat upon his curls.

And it was at that moment that his wings unfurled.

His feathers held the same lightness and delicacy as the white petals of calla lilies. The edges of the wings spread out far wider than any raptor the girl had ever seen before. But of course they did, because as the girl studied his appearance with wide and frantic eyes, she realized this was not just some winged creature before her.

This was not even some man.

Before her stood a god; almighty Eros himself.

As soon as the realization dawned on her, the girl repositioned her body into a bow. She tucked into herself, laid her palms to the floor, and rested her forehead upon them. With a quivering voice, she greeted the young god who smirked at her displays of veneration.

"L-l-lord Eros!" Her voice caught, stuck in her throat like the thickness of honey.

Amused by her displays, the young god snickered.

"Rise, my child. You have no need to soil your dress." He took a moment to look over the state of her clothes. A light dusting of clay had settled upon her slick, sallow skin, dirtying her garments and tinting her tawny complexion gray. "It appears you've already soiled yourself enough with your hike, I suppose."

Making sure to avert her eyes from his sparkling gaze, the girl slowly rose, her face tilted humbly towards the ground. A scowl fixed upon Eros's face.

"Do not look at the floor, girl. Have you forgotten that you were once an Earthly princess, next to be Empress? You may look at me."

She stood still, a tremor running through her wiry frame.

Exhaling an exasperated huff through his nostrils, the young god narrowed his eyes. "I will not repeat myself, girl. You will look at me, or I will make you."

At the threat, the girl swallowed hard, and lifted her chin with all of the grace she could muster up in her body. Remnants of regality still existed in her poise. No matter how beaten the body, it still remembered.

Red-tinged cinnamon eyes met glittering sapphire ones. The girl held her breath, awe settling into her body like winter's frost. She felt herself being consumed by the fierce gaze of the young god, as if it was a portal to the molten depths of the Eternal Flame that sat before them.

With a sigh, Eros floated into the air and crossed his legs, hovering before the girl in a seated position. Balancing the weight of his head in his hands, he peered down at the girl with a bored expression.

"I must admit, girl, your pleas have become quite tedious. You are aware you are cursed, correct?"

At the mention of a curse, the girl's thick brows shot up. "Cursed?"

The sapphire eyes rolled around in a circle before returning to her face. "My time is precious. I cannot spend all day explaining one human's fate and destiny. Surely you must have realized your family was cursed when they were all slaughtered, and those who lived enslaved?"

Jaw tight, the girl cast her eyes down to the embers in the pit. The flames mimicked the same flickering that was left in the wake of the devastation of her land. Painful memories drowned any other thoughts as her hands balled into fists at her sides.

Fire and brimstone. Blood and suffering. War and conquest.

The stench of charred bodies set aflame still singed the hairs of her nostrils.

With watery eyes, the girl once again met Eros's gaze. "What happened to my people was a tragedy. I know of no curse. If I were cursed, why am I the only one left of my family who still draws breath?"

With a snap of his fingers, a jewel encrusted chalice suddenly appeared in Eros's palm. Moonlight reflected off its golden luster. He took a sip of the frothy ambrosia that filled the cup, and said in a callous voice, "Look, girl-"

He was cut off by the one he referenced. "Please, call me by my name, Saffronia."

Quirking one arched brow, a smirk spread across his face, revealing a dimple. "Ah, so you finally demand respect?"

The question made Saffronia pause, as defiance was not her strong suit. But she knew a god such as Eros would eat her alive if she let him. Swallowing thickly, Saffronia nodded her head in reply. Pleased by her sudden brazen streak, Eros continued, the previous disinterested monotone of his voice breaking into slight intrigue.

"To explain in mortal terms, Saffronia, your father was meant to join the empires of Athens and Lydia through marriage. But your mother was with child - that's where you come into the story - and so he wed her in a secret arrangement. Now the Athenians, especially his previous betrothed's father, were not very keen to that. For years, curses were made to the chthonic gods of the underworld to reign terror on your family. Now, your parents were devout worshippers of Olympus, but not all gods sympathized with their tale of love. And so my mother could not save their lives, but she did ensure you were protected, to an extent. Are you following, Saffronia?"

Eros took a pause to swirl his chalice, while Saffronia used the moment to organize the fragmented thoughts in her head.

"So you mean to tell me, my people were murdered on Hades' orders?" Heat pulsated from Saffronia's core, and it was not related to the muggy summer air. As her anger rose closer to the surface, she found herself blinking back tears.

"My child, please do not become emotional. I've inherited my father's empathy, I'm afraid; or lack thereof." Turning his attention back to his drink, he gulped down the rest of its contents.

"Besides, it makes no sense to be angry at the gods. We simply act to bring about fate. Nothing could have saved your parents. And unfortunately, nothing will save your lover either."

"My lover?" The words stunned Saffronia, and halted her outburst for the moment. There was no lover that existed; at least, not that she knew of. Yet Eros's words confirmed his existence. All she wanted was to meet him.

He was everything she had been praying for; she knew this even though she had yet to meet him.

"So I have a lover?" This time, her words dripped in disbelief. The slightest laugh escaped her lips as she clutched her chest. Her body jostled as she collapsed to her knees.

This was the sort of happiness that made one's lungs forget to expand. This was the sort of happiness that made the gut home to a thousand fluttering swallowtails. Overwhelming joy threatened to consume her thin frame as her emotions swung to the opposite end of the pendulum.

She was harshly ripped out of her euphoria by the empty chalice of Eros. While squinting to aim, he launched the cup at the girl, resulting in a shrill squeal as she dodged the heavy object. The clattering of the metal upon the floor rang throughout the stone masonry of the temple.

Saffronia's wide eyes observed the young god in fearful apprehension as he returned her gaze with sapphire orbs gleaming playfully. "Do not forget I have the best aim of all of Olympus, and I'm not afraid to show it."

After a beat of silence to allow Saffronia to calm, Eros continued.

"Yes, of course you have a lover and a soul mate. My mother guaranteed such. She took a liking to you...I don't see why but I follow her commands. So Aphrodite and I have ensured you'll have the love you want, but it will not be eternal. Unfortunately, neither of us are powerful enough to completely break the will of the curse."

The next words Eros spoke pierced Saffronia's chest and wound around her heart until it felt like it would burst.

"You will meet your lover, you will have your beautiful family and beautiful life, but you are destined to suffer an untimely end to your romance. You will try - in vain - to keep him with you, but you will constantly be torn apart. This will be your eternity. This is the final fulfillment of the curse."

Before Saffronia could respond, the young god's fingers were clasping the central offering around her gaunt neck.

"This is how you will meet him. The necklace will begin this tragedy for you."

With a blank face and barely blinking eyes, Saffronia was turned to face Eros once more. Now much closer than before, a passing thought made her wish she could appreciate the charming face of the god, the pink of his cheeks, the fullness of his lashes, the deep curve of his upper lip. But the reeling of his revelation made it difficult to consider anything else.

Staring into her eyes for a final time, Eros's own gaze betrayed his emotions. Guilt darkened his irises to the hue of the night sky, and with a chaste kiss on each of her hollow cheeks, he said his final words to Saffronia.

"I am sorry, you loyal princess. I wish we could have done more."

And with that divine apology, Eros shoved the girl back by her shoulders, sending her stumbling back into the pit of the Eternal Sapphire Flame, a flailing mess of limbs and linen.

Buzzing blue warmth enveloped her, but before she could let out a throaty plea to the heavens, she awoke in the comfort of her slave chambers, a sheet upon her frame and an amethyst and silver chain adorning her neck.

⟡⟡⟡

Last night's dream weighed heavily upon Saffronia's mind; even heavier than the thought of what punishment she'd receive for being caught with jewelry meant for the aristocracy. She shuffled through the dusty streets of the agora, her body burdened with worry and fatigue.

Upon the discovery of a necklace around her neck, Saffronia's mistress had ordered her to go to the market and sell "the wretched thing." Her mistress was unimpressed by her amateur jeweler skills, and disgusted by Saffronia's gall.

Saffronia was equally surprised. She was no bold woman. She would never usually allow herself to be caught with such goods so pure that slave hands would only tarnish. But it seems her late nights were catching up to her, and in her drowsy almost-slumber, she must have mistakenly forgotten who she was.

Just a slave.

As Saffronia neared the vendor her mistress had instructed her to sell to, a ruby shape rolled along into her path. A ripe apple, all jewel red save for some sunspots bleached gold.

Kneeling down to pick up the item, her fingers brushed against another's. She looked up.

Red-tinged cinnamon eyes met the deepest shade of violet she'd ever seen. The eyes crinkled at the corners as a smile fixed itself upon his lips below. A mop of dark hair the shade of carob peas fell across the man's forehead, and sunkissed olive skin spread evenly across his face.

Forgetting the apple, Saffronia let the man grasp the fruit in one palm, and her hand in the other.

"I am Crocus," his voice revealed, slipping from his mouth as smooth as silk.

"Saffronia," she replied, as the man raised her hand to kiss. "Saffronia of Lydia."

He eyed her coyly, studying her. His eyes made their way down from her matted hair, to her deep set eyes, past her strong nose, across her thin lips, before settling upon her throat. "I like your necklace, Saffronia. It is the only thing upon you that does your quiet beauty justice."

As heat warmed her cheeks as ruby red as the apple in Crocus's grip, Saffronia turned her face to the side, hoping to shield her timidness from his view. "Thank you, but it is not mine to keep." A silent prayer lifted up to the gods as she hoped her next words wouldn't scare the man away. "I am but a slave to Mistress Phanagora. This necklace must be sold."

Saffronia stood rigid as the statues in the holy temples. She waited for the man's reply. Such flirtations surely would cease now that her status had been revealed.

Some shifting of sheets were heard, and then the clinking of coins. When Saffronia dared to turn and search the face of Crocus once more, he held a small burlap sack in the palm where the apple once sat. The sack was dropped into Saffronia's free hand, singing with the chimes of many clinking coins.

"One thousand drachmae, for the necklace," a pause made Saffronia's breath hitch and skin pimple in excitement, "and for you."

⟡⟡⟡

She had spent twelve years as the botanist's wife.

Twelve summers, twelve winters, twelve autumns and twelve springs.

And on this twelfth day of the twelfth lunar month, Saffronia was reminded how the gods favored repetition. How they reveled in it.

His long and lithe body lay in her lap as she stroked his cheek. Her children had called her from the fields, screaming that father had been wounded by a rabid dog. His violet eyes glazed glassy as scarlet flowed in wet ribbons from the tears in his flank and his exposed trachea.

She watched as flowers, the same shade of purple as her lover's eyes, suddenly sprang from the earth where his blood spilled: violet buds opening from deep crimson.

A whisper from a familiar voice sang in her ear.

"These blooms will now be called the crocus. They are a symbol of the final fulfillment of your curse. It is broken now; you need not fear your children's future."

Saffronia laughed before erupting into a sorrowful wail, the type of howl that liked to hear itself. The groans were a testament of her faith, of her love, of her grief for the pallid man in her arms that was growing colder by the second.

Without words, she pleaded with the gods. She asked to be joined to him. She asked to follow him. She asked to be made a soft petal, a green stem. She pleaded to be at his side in whatever form her husband took.

With a snap of his fingers, the god of love granted her wish.

The corporeal bodies of both Saffronia and Crocus vanished from the fields, and in their disappearance stood violet waves abloom: the flowers of the man's namesake. Betwixt the purple petals, sprouting amongst the mellow yellow centers, were thin, red threads. The threads dropped red-tinged powder, like ground cinnamon.

The eyes of their children - four pairs of amber, one of plum - wandered over the curious site. Soon, in their confusion, their feet trampled upon the fields of their parents, squealing with joy and awe and they ripped the leather scented saffron from its purple heart.