Sisyphus looked to the stars as a child, with eyes of gray and seeming them glimmer in the canvas of black painted behind them, as if the sky wished for him to see them only.

He was mortal, he loathed it, seeing the crimson beneath his skin while gods bled gold. While you bled gold. He could not compete with it, while time continued it daunting passing, you made it an affliction and blessing.

You, a daughter of titans and their terrible union—one of seven, blessed by Zeus to dance among stars, but your limbs found themselves to the mortal world, despite your kin and their warning did the two of you fall in love.

“I swear from the heavens above to the pit of Tartarus itself,” He said, “I shall live beyond my years, for death cannot keep me from you.”

Sisyphus held no intention of letting you return to the stars with your sisters, nor the heavens of godly Olympus, you were his to keep, his to hold. His Queen.