The Song of Achilles

by Madeline Miller

Achilles’ eyes were bright in the firelight, his face drawn sharply by the flickering shadows. I would know it in dark or disguise, I told myself. I would know it even in madness.

I could not think, could not do anything but drink him in, each breath as it came, the soft movements of his lips. It was a miracle.

We were like gods at the dawning of the world, and our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.