The Song of Achilles

by Madeline Miller

I would know it in dark, or disguise, I told myself. I would know it even in madness.

I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.

I would know him blind,

He did not fear ridicule; he had never known it.

He knew, but it was not enough.

He is half of my soul, as the poets say.

‘You care more for him in death than in life,’