[ 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 ] : receiver expresses frustration regarding sender's actions. /. patchilli
spine stiff and limbs heavy, patroclus shifts his spear to his right hand, blade harmlessly pointed towards the ground despite his white knuckled grip. his stare is vacant, dulled by the gloom of spirits filled elysium but not out of forgetfulness. what little he has drunk from lethe is not enough — could never be enough to erase golden achilles from his memory. patroclus has given up other things, blood soaked and foul upon his soul; some of the men he had left bleeding in the sand, ravaged by the bite of his spear. their names gone, swallowed by the river. and of the many cities they had sacked on their warpath to troy, patroclus now fails to recall at least half of them.
patroclus had thought @fospherus lost to some cruel game of the fates. for what other reason could ever tear achilles from his side, even in death? and yet, he can already feel the ice in his chest thawing at the sight of him. doubtless, if he had mortal breath left in his lungs it would have caught in his throat. a splinter, a thorn, or just a lover's name.
'' achilleus. '' patroclus breaks his silence, the distance he meant to put between them with formality only making him sound hollow. '' i suffered elysium alone, with only ghosts and the river lethe for company. '' he throws his spear point down on the ground, the shaft vibrating from the force of the impact. the gray sand parts, splitting open like sarpedon's chest once did for him. his wretched mood will not last, but he has been cold and lonely for too long to give it up so easily. '' time and time again i watched dead soldiers drink their fill, acheans and trojans alike. did it ever occur to you that i could have done the same? '' a deep unhappiness, swift on misery's heels, twists his features into a wretched scowl. brows furrowed, patroclus chokes on his own pain, as bitter as blood. '' could have forgotten you? ''