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When Narcissus stumbled upon the pool, small and shallow and without any sort of fish to be seen within, and when he bent to drink and stopped, halted, stared for a long while, the onlookers made an assumption. Narcissus, so beautiful, must have seen his own reflection. He must have caught sight of his honey-colored curls falling down into his face, the tips dripping wet with drinking water, and surely he must have fallen in love.
“Narcissus!” They called between laughs, “Come, pull yourself away! We must be leaving.” But he did not come. Instead, he stayed, leaning in closer, lips brushing against the glimmering surface of the water. “We’ll be back once you’re done kissing yourself,” the others said with a chuckle, leaving to go find their next hunting spot.
They had assumed that Narcissus saw his own reflection. And this was a fair assumption to make, seeing as he was a very lovely young man with a face quite unlike anything before seen. The son of a river god, he had divinity in his blood. He knew this, and he was proud of it. There wasn’t a soul who blamed him, for his pride was matched only by his beauty.
But it wasn’t his reflection that caught his eye. No, it was something further up, something shining on the edge of the pond, barely bright enough to be seen.
“Who are you?” Narcissus whispered, reaching out above his reflection to gently touch where the water shone. “I have never seen you before. Come, speak to me. I demand it.” But the light did not reply.
In the shallow puddle of water, Narcissus watched the moon rise high into the sky. With her came a man, clad in white and blue. Around his neck was a chain, which bound him to Selene herself. His hair was pale yellow, the same color as a harvest moon in autumn. He walked slowly, slightly slouched, and with him he brought a helping of sticky cakes, presumably for the goddess herself to snack on throughout the night.
“You,” Narcissus said again, more firmly. He held onto the edge of the grass, sinking mud under his fingernails. “Tell me your name, servant of the moon.”
The servant held up the plate of cakes for Selene, who ate generously. When he looked down, down at Earth, down at the puddle in the middle of it all, he smiled. “You’re talking to me?”
“Who else?”
“No one ever talks to me.”
“Why is that?” Narcissus pushed himself closer, breath making ripples across the still water. “Tell me why that is.”
“Well, I’m not really much. Just a humble servant, through and through. I can’t answer prayers or grant wishes or anything of the like. All I do is serve my beautiful lady.” He motioned up to Selene, who was ignoring the entire thing. “My name is…well, it seems I’ve forgotten.” He laughed, despite the strangeness of his answer. “You can call me Prisoner, if you so choose.”
“Prisoner.” Narcissus repeated the word. “Such a cruel name.”
“Is it? I don’t think much of it.”
“Were I of any power beyond this earthly realm, I would free you. I would strike down Selene if it were required of me.”
“Oh! Quiet now, not so loud!” The servant set down his plate of cakes. “She just might hear you.”
“Let her hear.” Narcissus moved forward again, palms sliding forward in the muddy bank. “For you, for your beauty, I would strike down every god on Olympus.”
The Prisoner stood still. Then, he smiled, soft and enticing. “You speak of beauty, but have you seen yourself? You’re the most wonderful of the mortals I’ve seen. I should know, as I used to live among them, once, long ago.”
“Together we would be a great, beautiful thing.” Narcissus’ arms began to shake. He was barely on the bank now, with only the base of his hands resting on the solid earth. “Tell me, how can I free you? Rather, how can we be together?”
The Prisoner paused. “You want to know?” he said slowly, reaching out a hand. Narcissus freed one of his own to reach for the Prisoner’s fingers. “You really want to come be with me? Among the moon and the sun, the gods and everything ethereal?”
“I want nothing more.” Narcissus was near tears. His arms ached from the effort of holding himself above the surface of the water.
The Prisoner nodded once, a solemn look suddenly crossing his features. “Come.” Narcissus’ arms gave out. He fell forward, crashing into the surface of the puddle, which wasn’t really a puddle, but rather a deep hole in the ground with a sudden drop. Even if he had tried to grab onto something, he wouldn’t have been able to, for the descent was so sudden and so sharp that it took him by surprise.
He fell onto the reflection of the moon and her servant, into the Prisoner’s open arms. His crashing down created the first waves in the world. No longer would water sit stagnant, but rather it would surge with the desperate strength that comes when one seeks out something they love very dearly.
Narcissus drowned in the pool in the woods. When he opened his eyes next, he was being embraced, all while a cold chain pressed against his cheek.
“Am I dead?”
“You are just beginning to live.”