Achilles did not cry as the light left his eyes,
  arms open to embrace his ascent to the skies.

  Instead he smiled, tongue a twisted with a mouth full of lies, and held a whisper in the wind to the grief of his lover's cries.

  He was a soldier, damned faithful, right down to the day he died. Struck once, struck twice, struck seven as he sighed.

  —For Achilles did not believe in death, until torn apart by his pride.