How did I come to drink from that cup? In a dream. I haven’t the gift of prophecy. Not as my siblings, Cassandra and Helenus did. The boy appeared in my dream, though. Not theirs.
Beautiful he was, with hair too lustrous, eyes too luminous, and limbs too finely made to be mortal. An all too human sorrow cast shadows under his gleaming eyes, which locked onto mine. He clutched a golden goblet in hands which trembled on its stem.