“… Like beautiful Dawn’s Orion – a thousand glittering lights sewn across the velvet darkness – Odysseus… Odysseus, we can be forever. It will be lasting glory for both of us, Odysseus. Endless existence – golden thrones and silver ichor – spoonfuls of ambrosia…”

The nymph tilted her head as she spoke, the mist of a dream glazing her wistful blue orbs. Her heavenly tresses, twisted into one cascading braid, made her seem more exquisite than ever. Through her curtains of dark lashes, she noticed that her love was growing tearful – but it did not matter. His reluctant kiss just one day before still burned upon her rosy lips, and she knew she loved him – truly, deeply, and therefore, surely, he must share the same passions, too. Besides, no mortal man had ever been able to resist her hypnotizing beauty, her vibrant embraces, her tender caresses. 

His sorrows, if anything, made him more charming than ever, more amusing to observe.

“… Penelope.”

That name, again.

A resentful crimson flush stained Calypso’s cheeks, and she pulled away, momentarily blinded by envy. What did that wretched mortal woman have that she did not? For was she not a nymph – a goddess? One of the few who feasted upon ambrosia and drank red nectar stead of wine? Of course, she was no Olympian, nor was she anything compared to white-armed Hera or laughter-loving Aphrodite, but she was prized for her beauty, her grace, her stature, like most nymphs were. 

Some southernly wind had heard her irate musings, and stirred up a breeze, allowing the dainty folds of her dress to tremble, almost in breathtaking portrayal of her vexation. 

“You and I, Odysseus. Just say yes. I promise after that immortality will run in both our veins, we will be happy forever, together – Odysseus, just say yes.”

Her lovely Odysseus, however, in tight-lipped yearning, only sank further into the sand, watching the horizon with flickering hope. The nymph sighed, though she could not help but smile at his foolish tears, peals of laughter escaping her sweet lips at her love’s useless longing. Whether his answer be in the affirmation or not, he really had no choice in the matter. And she knew that he knew it. The island of Ogygia harboured many like Odysseus, some too atrocious for Calypso’s blessing, and therefore passed away without many a burial, some too cowardly to embark on the returning journey, fearful of the vastness of Poseidon’s territory. But nevertheless, her Odysseus was so beautiful like this, so vulnerable…

She raised a hand and cupped his cheeks with fondness. She always loved when he cried – his tears of crystal dew reflecting the endless expanse of turquoise ocean that surrounded them, that she knew he could not cross, even without Poseidon’s wrath. Nobody could ever love another quite like she loved her Odysseus, the girl mused, and despite his stubborn nature, he was no doubt the most daring, most charming man she had ever been privileged enough to meet. 

Her Odysseus. He looked quite the sight now, coal black locks framing his angular visage, lifeless eyes staring into the distant sea, then flickering to her. Often, when he was like this, she would smile gently at him, clasp his hands in her soft palms, and make another promise, of immortality or otherwise, if only he would choose to stay with her. But sometimes, on the rainy days, the colder days, she would sing to him, lulling him into a sense of peaceful pleasure until he agreed to stay ‘til the morning – and most times, another morning would become another month, then another month would become another year.

Then there were times when she would be caught in the nostalgic melody of her own songs, wondering if, years ago, lost in his Ithacan childhood, her Odysseus ever was told the story of Orion and his lover Dawn, gazing at the former’s glittering constellation imprinted in the night sky – and wished, too, to be forever intertwined within stories of gallant heroes; or perhaps for the everlasting love of a beautiful goddess.