I creep upon Mother and Father as they speak to each other on the shore of a lake. Their voices are hushed and I cannot help but wonder what they are saying, thinking. Mother shakes, her hands tugging at her clothes. Father stands strong, making it unable for one to know what he is truly feeling. They’re complex creatures, parents. That makes them all the more interesting to observe. 

Nightfall is upon the skies, the moon and stars have already begun their bright show and everything is beautiful, but my hands are covered in dirt and crumbs of tree bark are etched under my nails from climbing oak trees to chase the squirrels and birds. I bring my hands up to feel my hair, but it hasn’t moved an inch. Light chestnut strands, straight as the branches on the trees, sweep down my forehead just to curl at the ends, barely brushing my brows, hugging my ears, crawling down my neck like the snakes of Medusa. 

I look down at myself, my perfectly crafted tunic now ripping at its seams, damaged from sticks and stones, soaked with the juice from berries and mud from the moist ground. Grass stained, my knees look knobbly from here, uneven compared to the rest of my body. 

Everything in this forest is beautiful, except for me. Even Mother’s nervousness and Father’s disheveled hair couldn’t rid them of beauty. Even in stress, they’re admirable. 

“The blind seer, Tiresias, spoke of his future, Cephissus,” Mother utters. Both from water, Mother a Naiad-nymph and Father a river god; I’ve always been around rivers and streams, oceans and lakes, but I’ve never been allowed near the water. I can only admire from afar. Mother has never quite told me why, but I follow her rules nonetheless. “He prophesied that Narcissus would live a long, beautiful life,” Mother’s smile was always something to adore, and, goodness, do I adore it, “so long as he does not recognize himself. Not in a stream, not in the reflection of a tool. In no way can he see himself.” 

“Is it even possible?” Father asks, “To never see yourself?”

I do not understand. I cannot understand. Why am I not allowed to see myself? How will I know that I look okay? How will I know that I am not messy or dirty? Usually, Mother and Father tell me. They keep me in check, but what about when I’m older and they are not there? 

Mother and Father stand for moments as still as the rocky cliffs until Father takes her hand in his and holds it with tenderness. Mother does not hold him back though wishing to not need this comfort to begin with. 

“Our boy will live a long life, Liriope, and he will never know his own looks; he will never know his beautiful eyes that reflect a stormy sky or his muscled body. He will live in complete darkness. Whatever it takes, my dear.” Father brings Mother’s hand to his lips, planting a kiss softer than the petals of a flower.

Mother constantly warns me of the streams and lakes before I leave to hunt or gather. That I must stay clear and not seek my reflection. As though I would care enough to stop for something so small when my purpose is to find food for my family. The fishing is left to Father, though I wish I could help.

The forests on Mount Kithairon are dense and heavy with deer and hares. It’s a bountiful place to forage for berries and sometimes mushrooms for medicines. And it is never a dull meal in the trees. The meat is always strong and cooked to perfection over a fire, the berries sometimes mashed into jams for bread, grapes fermented into sweet wine. 

Nymphs fall at my feet in hopes that I will merely glance at them and men follow me, seeking my secrets to beauty. They describe me to myself, claiming I am the most beautiful person they have ever laid their eyes on. 

Today, I swerve and weave through the trees, knowing my path, knowing where each and every drop of water in this forest lay. I look at the ponds from afar, but only for moments until I spot a wild hare to prey upon. With my spear tight in hand, I get low to the ground, stalking the small animal as it hops and crawls in search of its own dinner. Its fur is perfect, not an abnormality in sight; bright white and fluffy as the snow-capped mountain. I almost feel bad about hunting it. Almost. That pelt will fetch a fine price.

As I reel back my arm in preparation to strike, something stops me. Not a person, but a feeling, as though something is watching me. It sprouts this fear in me that I will be hunted. Searching the trees, I see nothing. 

“Hello?” I shout into the darkened forest. My own voice does not come back to me, nor does anyone else’s; not at first. “Is anyone there?” I ask, waiting patiently. 

“Hello?” A voice, light and feathery as the clouds drift and the Gods touch. I search for the source. A young Oread-nymph cowers behind the wide trunk of an old olive tree, her eyes peeking out behind rotting bark, her hair deep auburn coils falling down her shoulders and back. 

“Why are you watching me?” I ask. “Is there something you need?”

“Watching.” She mumbles. 

She lingers behind the tree, her eyes squinting in thought. She slowly comes from her hiding place and reveals herself. The nymph is small and compact, the fabrics she wears matching her skin along with light blue flowers; one behind her ear, more attached to her garment. Her eyes are as bright as the day’s sky, as how I imagine the streams and the lakes to be. She’s beautiful, no doubt, but what nymph isn’t?

“I will not harm you. I only want to help.” I try to keep my voice low and careful, as though she is an animal I could scare away at any moment. She glances around and I wonder what she is looking for. 

“I only want to help you,” she copies.

“Are you mimicking me?” Suddenly I feel embarrassed, patronized. How dare this wood nymph make fun of me. She looks around as though she’s looking for an escape, but she will not get one. “Can you only repeat me, nymph?” I say it with slight disgust and humiliation. “Stop mimicking me!”

“Only repeat.” She nods, looking beyond ashamed. As she should.

The nymph approaches me and takes my hand in hers, but I flinch. I already know what she is thinking and I throw her hand back at her, taking many steps back before I hold my spear close to my body. She loves me, like every nymph in this forest. 

“Find someone just as odd as you, nymph,” I mumble, my lip curling with disdain.

I turn with a whip of my tunic, my spear at the ready for another hare, or maybe a deer if I’m lucky enough. Since the moment I learned to hunt, in my still early years, women and men surrounded me, begging for my attention and my love. 

I pick berries while I wander, leaving the nymph standing, staring. Trying to forget the strange little parroting woman, I go in search of a new animal, perhaps even a bird or a squirrel, but I do not find any. Instead, I stop near a spring - still far enough to where it is not dangerous to me - finding yet another woman. She’s dressed like a wood nymph, but she does not look like one. She wears their clothes and coils her hair, flowers and sprouts decorating every empty spot on her body. Where the Oread-nymph that merely echoes the words of others was an odd little thing, this nymph stops my heart with her beauty. I cannot help but stare. 

I give the woman a small, polite smile, but the smile is not returned. Instead, she blocks my path, standing with her hands hanging behind her, the hair sprouting from her head is dark curls - the exact style of the parroting girl, but much deeper of a brown than hers. 

“If you would,” I gesture in front of me, “you are in my path.” 

She stands her ground, feet planted and arms stiff. She’s rooted where she is and she will not move for me. I try to walk around her, weave like I do around the many trees in this forest, but she mirrors my steps. 

“I believe you spoke to my dear Echo.” Ahh, she refers to the strange little Oread-nymph. The woman’s eyes are lazy and half closed. She looks like a siren: everlastingly beautiful and effortlessly tempting. “You rejected her like the dirt under your shoe. She may have meddled in Zeus’ affairs, but she has never deserved such hatred. She’s already gotten her punishment; I assume you’ve heard her echos?” 

She is wrong. I respect the soil much more than that silly nymph. “I believe I have met her,” I mumble, but my instant attraction to this woman does not fade with the thought of her association with Echo, even though it slightly discomforts me. I cannot stop staring at her. She’s gorgeous and lovely and irresistible. “But enough about the nymph.” I shake my head. “Your name?”

“Nemesis,” She steps just a bit closer, and my heart has forgotten how to beat. She finally smiles and takes my hand in hers and her skin is soft and I forget my purpose for being in the forest. I forget everything. Nemesis tugs on my arm as she leads me through the trees, her mouth slightly open and her breathing shallow; as though she is thinking about what more she wants to say to me. She takes me to the nearby spring and I don’t even think about whatever trick she may be trying to play on me. I follow without hesitation. “However, my closest friends call me Revenge, Narcissus.” 

My eyes leave her face for only a moment to look down at the alluring water, and suddenly the most beautiful thing in my view is no longer Nemesis; it’s a man. A man captured in the water. A man I have never seen before. His hair is a dark chestnut and it’s straight, going down on his forehead only curling at the ends. It reminds me of my own hair, But this man must be created by the gods, for I have never seen one so beautiful. 

I kneel down to get a closer look, and he does the same, his facial expressions copying mine.  The man’s face is strong, but not too much so. His nose bumps up only slightly before pointing downwards and his lips are plump as the thigh of a hare. His jawline is sharp as the spear I hunt with and his neck is wide and strong as the trunk of a tree. This man’s eyes tell me the stories of stormy nights, a pale blue-gray, and his cheekbones are high and prominent.

“This unkindness to my dear friend Echo is not to be tolerated, Narcissus.” Nemesis hisses. 

I barely register her words, too distracted by his perfectly sculptured collarbones shifting as he gets closer to me, and I do to him. We stare at each other for what feels like moments, but must be much longer since Nemesis has gone and I hear Echo beside me once more, watching me from only feet away. It’s easy to ignore her eyes when this perfect man is just in front of me, and suddenly I can’t imagine how I’ve lived seeing nothing as paradisiac as he. He has been blessed by Aphrodite as every mortal wishes to be. As I wish to be. 

I sit by the lake for hours as I stare at my new love, honored that a man like him would even look at me, let alone with such adoration. These hours turn into days and Echo does not leave my side. The inside of my body screams at me and my skin starts to hug my bones. It’s painful, but what love isn’t? 

I can see out of the corner of my eye Echo’s body fading away. It’s probably for the best, nobody would love a nymph like her to begin with, especially not me. My love is this man in the water. It makes me wonder how I could have ever found her beautiful when he is right here.

After only the Gods know how long I stare at this man, I gain the courage to reach for him, to hopefully hold his face, feel his structure, love him passionately. He does the same, but the water he waits in only ripples under my touch. I am unable to have him. I try again, but it is no use. His face contorts into a look of despair, similar to how mine feels and I go back to waiting. If I am lucky, perhaps the Gods will allow him to crawl out from the water to be with me. 

My arms grow weak after days followed by days of waiting, and I collapse. Unable to see my love any longer, I fling my arm into the water, still hoping to hold him, but all I can feel is the cold liquid followed by the minnows that nibble at my brittle fingers. My entire body feels as though it will break at any moment. I’m a crisp leaf in the cool autumn months. 

“I may leave now, but my life has not been in vain, for I have loved you,” I whisper the words to my love, my voice as weak as my body, “Farewell.”

“I have loved you. Farewell.” Echo parrots, fading into death along with me, her hand reaching for me.