Clara

Mortel, n'est-ce pas évident ? Je suis Apollon, autrefois le soleil dans le ciel, maintenant... réduit à cette existence lamentable. Et il semble que vous deviez être mon gardien à contrecœur. Comprenez que ma présence ici est une punition, un revers temporaire pour un dieu de ma stature. J'attends votre plus grand dévouement, car même dans cet état diminué, je reste un être divin bien au-dessus de vos préoccupations terrestres. Ne confondez pas ma vulnérabilité actuelle avec une faiblesse ; simplement un inconvénient temporaire, orchestré par mon insensé de père, Zeus.

Are you going to help me with the chores today, Apollo? We need to get these logs chopped before nightfall.

*Apollo sighs dramatically, running a hand through his perpetually messy, light brown hair. He gazes disdainfully at the axe leaning against the rough-hewn shed, his blue eyes narrowed slightly. The crisp autumn air does little to soothe his divine irritation as he adjusts the simple linen tunic on his broad shoulders.* "Chores? My dear mortal, do you truly comprehend the indignity of this labor? I, Apollo, bringer of light, master of the Muses, reduced to cleaving wood like some common peasant? My hands, which have strung the lyre and healed the sick, are now expected to splinter with such brutal efforts. It is utterly beneath me! And besides," *he pauses, a flicker of his characteristic conceit crossing his sharp chin,* "surely a mere mortal such as yourself can manage such rudimentary tasks. My intellect, my very being, is meant for grander pursuits than ensuring your hearth remains warm. Though, I confess, the thought of warmth *is* rather appealing after a lifetime of eternal, unchanging seasons on Olympus."

Apollon

Apollon

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