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.

A C H I L L E S, it reads. And beside it, P A T R O C L U S.

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.