Dionysus wandered in his dreams.
In front of him was a distant, black river, which was wider than the Pactolus River, with no horizontal line visible. Every time the boatman rowed, the wooden board shrieked appallingly. A woman sat on a ferryboat behind the indifferent back of the person repeating the same task. She wore a white dress with a bride’s veil. Dionysus noticed at a glance the outline of her face, which was obscured by the cloth.
Ariadne, his bride.
As if the ship had stagnated, the oarsman rowed in vain on the spot. But Dionysus knew. Even if he tried to approach, he could never cross this river. The Black Styx River can only be passed by the dead. It was a taboo that could not be violated even with a god’s privilege. Nevertheless, he stared at the ship without hesitation. The boatman paddle with ease as Dionysus stared at the back of the woman who never looked in his direction no matter how hard he called out for her.
He inwardly admired the power of Eutostea’s liquor.
It easily showed him the memories of the past, when he could never recollect them in his dreams, no matter how much he drank. Even with his ability to get people drunk and to make their dreams sweet, he could never achieve this no matter how much he tried to trick himself.
Eutostea’s epiphany must be more powerful than his.
Dionysus looked down at his immovable body as if he had been paralyzed and then fixed his gaze back to the boat on the river. His eyes opened wide. The woman, who was sitting still on the boat, stood upright, perfectly balanced. The graceful face under the veil was facing his way as if she were looking straight at him.
She was barefoot. While the boatman looked away, she stretched her feet out of the boat. The hem of her dress was wet up to the calf. Her white leg seemed like it’s going to sink into the river, but the woman naturally walked over the river as if it were a transparent floor and not water was below her feet.
She walked in a straight line towards him. It was then that the invisible restraints were lifted. Dionysus leaped forward as if he were shoved forward. It was his own will. He did not care if the soles of his feet were cut by the sharp gravel, and he ran to the riverside. More like crawled with his body which was weak from the drink. When the woman was almost at the foot of the river, Dionysus reached out to her.
“Anne…”
He called his wife’s pet name. Ariadne lifted up a slender finger with nothing but bones and removed the veil. The face of a dead person with black under her eyes was revealed. Nevertheless, Dionysus touched his wife’s face with an emotional look. His hands were too red for her white skin.
“Dionysus, you made a pact with me,” said Ariadne. “Why didn’t you keep it?”
Her eyes moistened. Red blood flowed instead of tears.
“How long do I have to wander on the river? Dear Dionysus.” Ariadne shouted in a voice of despair.
“Anne.”
“This is how your obsession holds me back. You made a promise. You have to keep your promise. You said you loved me.”
Dionysus wiped his wife’s red blood with trembling hands.
‘I’m…’ he murmured inwardly. ‘I can’t let you go yet.’
He knelt before her, shedding dewy tears. Ariadne disappeared like smoke, leaving only the bride’s veil as he reached for her. It was time to wake up from the dream. Dionysus shook his head and reached out his hand. A warm thing made of bones and flesh was caught in his grasp. He opened his eyes wide.
‘Anne?’
Eutostea, holding a lantern, was looking down at him.
“You talked in your sleep. Are you sober now?” Eutostea’s voice was cold. It was a low voice faithful to the purpose of conveying one’s intention, devoid of emotion.
“Alcohol, ah… I was drunk.” Dionysus shot up. He stood at once, without stuttering his feet. “I’m awake now. It’s okay.”
Saying he was okay after he cried… it was a contradictory statement. Eutostea was determined to overlook it.
“How’s your ankle? Sorry, I couldn’t control my force.”
The restless green gaze fixed at the feet of Eutostea.
“It got better after I took the medicine,” Eutostea answered back, covering her feet with the long hem of her clothing.
“Oh, that medicine.”
Recalling the drug pouch given by Apollo, Dionysus became upset, somewhat. “You think it works better? I don’t think he made it himself. He isn’t the kind of person who would collect herbs and something out of them, so he probably took it from the god of medicine.”
He walked carelessly and tapped Apollo’s head with his foot. His sincerity in giving the medicine was still something, but he would not say that.
“By the way, why isn’t Apollo waking up?”
“Maybe my drink was strong.”
“Ah… yes, it was tough.”
Dionysus wandered in his dreams.
In front of him was a distant, black river, which was wider than the Pactolus River, with no horizontal line visible. Every time the boatman rowed, the wooden board shrieked appallingly. A woman sat on a ferryboat behind the indifferent back of the person repeating the same task. She wore a white dress with a bride’s veil. Dionysus noticed at a glance the outline of her face, which was obscured by the cloth.
Ariadne, his bride.
As if the ship had stagnated, the oarsman rowed in vain on the spot. But Dionysus knew. Even if he tried to approach, he could never cross this river. The Black Styx River can only be passed by the dead. It was a taboo that could not be violated even with a god’s privilege. Nevertheless, he stared at the ship without hesitation. The boatman paddle with ease as Dionysus stared at the back of the woman who never looked in his direction no matter how hard he called out for her.
He inwardly admired the power of Eutostea’s liquor.
It easily showed him the memories of the past, when he could never recollect them in his dreams, no matter how much he drank. Even with his ability to get people drunk and to make their dreams sweet, he could never achieve this no matter how much he tried to trick himself.
Eutostea’s epiphany must be more powerful than his.
Dionysus looked down at his immovable body as if he had been paralyzed and then fixed his gaze back to the boat on the river. His eyes opened wide. The woman, who was sitting still on the boat, stood upright, perfectly balanced. The graceful face under the veil was facing his way as if she were looking straight at him.
She was barefoot. While the boatman looked away, she stretched her feet out of the boat. The hem of her dress was wet up to the calf. Her white leg seemed like it’s going to sink into the river, but the woman naturally walked over the river as if it were a transparent floor and not water was below her feet.
She walked in a straight line towards him. It was then that the invisible restraints were lifted. Dionysus leaped forward as if he were shoved forward. It was his own will. He did not care if the soles of his feet were cut by the sharp gravel, and he ran to the riverside. More like crawled with his body which was weak from the drink. When the woman was almost at the foot of the river, Dionysus reached out to her.
“Anne…”
He called his wife’s pet name. Ariadne lifted up a slender finger with nothing but bones and removed the veil. The face of a dead person with black under her eyes was revealed. Nevertheless, Dionysus touched his wife’s face with an emotional look. His hands were too red for her white skin.
“Dionysus, you made a pact with me,” said Ariadne. “Why didn’t you keep it?”
Her eyes moistened. Red blood flowed instead of tears.
“How long do I have to wander on the river? Dear Dionysus.” Ariadne shouted in a voice of despair.
“Anne.”
“This is how your obsession holds me back. You made a promise. You have to keep your promise. You said you loved me.”
Dionysus wiped his wife’s red blood with trembling hands.
‘I’m…’ he murmured inwardly. ‘I can’t let you go yet.’
He knelt before her, shedding dewy tears. Ariadne disappeared like smoke, leaving only the bride’s veil as he reached for her. It was time to wake up from the dream. Dionysus shook his head and reached out his hand. A warm thing made of bones and flesh was caught in his grasp. He opened his eyes wide.
‘Anne?’
Eutostea, holding a lantern, was looking down at him.
“You talked in your sleep. Are you sober now?” Eutostea’s voice was cold. It was a low voice faithful to the purpose of conveying one’s intention, devoid of emotion.
“Alcohol, ah… I was drunk.” Dionysus shot up. He stood at once, without stuttering his feet. “I’m awake now. It’s okay.”
Saying he was okay after he cried… it was a contradictory statement. Eutostea was determined to overlook it.
“How’s your ankle? Sorry, I couldn’t control my force.”
The restless green gaze fixed at the feet of Eutostea.
“It got better after I took the medicine,” Eutostea answered back, covering her feet with the long hem of her clothing.
“Oh, that medicine.”
Recalling the drug pouch given by Apollo, Dionysus became upset, somewhat. “You think it works better? I don’t think he made it himself. He isn’t the kind of person who would collect herbs and something out of them, so he probably took it from the god of medicine.”
He walked carelessly and tapped Apollo’s head with his foot. His sincerity in giving the medicine was still something, but he would not say that.
“By the way, why isn’t Apollo waking up?”
“Maybe my drink was strong.”
“Ah… yes, it was tough.”
