Costas Komborozos

Helen Costas Komborozos

Paris reveled in the royal silence. He glanced at Helen and saw the half-loving look in her eyes. He wondered how the light in her eyes dimmed suddenly. Nine years ago, he had felt a fresh renewal in his life. As the years passed, Helen's beauty had appeared to him day and night as a small embodiment of some universal masterpiece, a shadowy kind of love shining through the warring ways and nostalgic-free yearnings of the past. Every moment with her had seemed to him impossibly new. Every look and glance had seemed utterly impervious to a life that shunned eternity. Now, he felt the years gathering into a fruitless heap in a precious corner of his mind. He felt his joy sinking in the cold dreaded darkness of an ocean all-consuming. Priam had placed his hand approvingly on his shoulder and whispered words of wisdom to him. He had looked from his eyes to hers as they enjoyed the early phase of wedded bliss. Helen became his wife and queen of Troy, and all seemed to have fallen into place. Destiny had no longer appeared to him as flashing a scarred smile upon the slightest sign of imperfection or indecision. But somehow he had felt the glow of warmth and affection inside the citadel steadily recede over the years. And then he knew why. Achilles was coming. Paris almost felt the air tremble before him, unleashing a stream of disquiet in his mind. The stream caused him and Helen to become distant from each other's loving gazes. The Trojan Horse was near now. Paris felt its false allure break through every last remnant of the citadel's armored silence. His eyes drifted upon the impeccably white corridor. Helen's gaze become even more distant from him. The time had come. The Trojan War was reaching its final phase.