I have done it," she says. At first I do not understand. But then I see the tomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. A C H I L L E S, it reads. And beside it, P A T R O C L U S."Go," she says. "He waits for you."In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight.

He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight. I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.

Never on me let such wrath lay hold, as the wrath you cherish, you whose valor causes harm!

We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory.

Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.

Achilles’ eyes lift. They are bloodshot and dead. “I wish he had let you all die.

When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.

Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.

Achilles weeps. He cradles me, and will not eat, nor speak a word other than my name.

That is — your friend?" "Philtatos," Achilles replied, sharply. Most beloved.

Peleus acknowledged this. "Yet other boys will be envious that you have chosen such a one. What will you tell them?" "I will tell them nothing." The answer came with no hesitation, clear and crisp. "It is not for them to say what I will do.

The difference between being Achilles and almost being Achilles is the difference between living and dying.

Indeed, he seemed utterly unaware of his effect on the boys around him.