Gucci’s “The Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice” is a four-part series of short films shot in New York. “Palo Alto” director Gia Coppola casts a contemporary lens over the Greek legend, starring the ill-fated lovers and the Pre-Fall 2016 collection.
The tradition of fairies in the Vale of Neath goes a long way back. In his Journey Through Wales (ca. 1191), Gerald of Wales tells the following story, set around Neath and Swansea:
‘The priest Elidyr always maintained that it was he who was the person concerned. When he was a young innocent only twelve years old and learning to read, he ran away one day and hid under the hollow bank of some river or other, for he had had more than enough of the harsh discipline… meted out by his teacher… Two days passed and there he still lay hidden, with nothing at all to eat. Then two tiny men appeared, no bigger than pigmies. “If you will come away with us,” they said,“we will take you to a land where all is playtime and pleasure.”’
So, they led him through an underground tunnel to a beautiful land of meadows and rivers, where the days were dark because the sun did not shine, and the nights pitch-black, for there was neither moon nor stars.
The people there were very tiny, but perfectly formed, fair in complexion, the men with flowing hair. They had horses about as big as greyhounds, and never ate meat nor fish, but lived on junkets. More than anything in the world they hated lies. Elidyr was brought before their king, who handed him over to his son, a child like himself, and they would play together with a golden ball. Elidyr would often return to the upper world to visit his mother, and was never hindered. But one day she asked him to bring back some of the fairies’ gold, and he stole the golden ball. He ran home with it to his mother by his usual route, hotly pursued by the fairies. He tripped over the threshhold, and and as he fell the ball slipped from his hand. The little men at his heels snatched it up, and as they passed Elidyr they spat at him and shouted, “Thief, traitor, false mortal!” The boy was red with shame for what he had done, but was ultimately unable to relocate the entrance to the underground passage. He searched for a year along the overhanging banks of the river, he never found it again.
The boy later became a priest, and whenever the Bishop asked him about the tale, Elidyr would burst into tears. He could still remember the language of the fairies, and when the Bishop related it to Gerald of Wales, he responded that it reminded him of Greek.
If Elidyr was lying to cover his truancy, he was spinning a traditional yarn which he knew could be believed. The underground land of the fairies is found in other early fairytales in Britain as well as Ireland, where the fairies inhabit the sidh or barrow - suggesting that fairies owe at least part of their origin to a cult of the dead.
In Slavic mythology, the Zorya are the two guardian goddesses, known as the Auroras or as the Morning Star and the Evening Star. Both sisters serve the sun god Dažbog, who is in some myths described as their father. The Morning Star opens the gates to his palace each morning for the sun-chariot’s departure. At dusk, the Evening Star closes the gates once more after his return.They guard and watch over the doomsday hound, Simargl, who is chained to the star Polaris in the constellation Ursa Minor, the “little bear”. If the chain ever breaks, the hound will devour the constellation and the universe will end.
The Evening Star is Zorya Vechernyaya (from Russian vecher, meaning “evening”), a goddess of dusk who is depicted as a fully armed and courageous warrior. She was associated with the planet Mercury. Some myths cast both Zorya as virgin goddesses who had the specific job of grooming their father’s white horses, but other accounts say
they married the moon god Myesyats and gave birth to the stars. Ancient Slavs would pray to Zorya Vechernyaya
each evening as the sun set.
An AU Nix/Hunter Reylo One-Shot that’s inspired by all the awesome Mermay beautifying my dashboard.
The bleeding stag across the hunter’s shoulders forced his boots to sink deeper into iced over mud.
Each pull up took more effort.
Each step down felt more final.
Verdammt! How far can I be?
“I’ve only been here a hundred times?” he shouted through chattering teeth. “H-How can I be lost!”
For not the first time, he regretted separating from the group, but regrets wouldn’t keep him alive. Sucking down a stabilizing breath, the raven-haired man gathered enough strength to stumble back along the right way. One foot in front of the other stuck close to the stream. Across thickets and around trees, he followed the slow merciful gurgle until the Aufeis stopped the flow.
Staring at the hunks of ice blocking the stream, the hunter could only sense his impending end as well.
This time when the stag slipped off his shoulders, he didn’t stop it. Leaning against a rock, the worn man submitted to the inevitable. Under all his pelt layers were shiver swells that wouldn’t quit. Under the eyes of the gods who he thought had abandoned him, the man prayed to make it back to his village.
I will not make it.
Liebe Götter, please let me make it.
Long after panicking, the man called Kylo urgently spoke his oldest god’s beloved names. Every praise puffed out into a harsh winter wind, but he kept praying. On and on, he showed reverence while never daring to close his eyes when the frozen dew caked his eyelashes.
“centuries ago, intricately weaved tales of otherworldly, fox-like creatures permeated the lands of East Asia. all recollections of encounters with the being resulted in the same illustration: a fox not unlike those of the average nature in appearance, turned transcendental by the multiple tails in which it grew and it’s inhuman powers and abilities.”