Hyacinth

By Elle Porter

In this mythology reimagining of Hyacinthus and Apollo, a lighthouse keeper is afflicted with grisly nightmares after a mysterious yet charming shopkeeper arrives in a secluded coastal village.

 

HYACINTH is an m+m speculative romance featuring supernatural horror elements and a trans masc love interest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle Porter
• Release date: Dec 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201387723

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Copyright Information

Story, cover, and book design © 2022 Elle Porter

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Trademarks

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

About

In this mythology reimagining of Hyacinthus and Apollo, a lighthouse keeper is afflicted with grisly nightmares after a mysterious yet charming shopkeeper arrives in a secluded coastal village.

HYACINTH is an m+m speculative romance featuring supernatural horror elements and a trans love interest.

. . .

Content Warnings: alcohol consumption, death of a main character’s parents (off-screen) and references to drowning, a funeral scene (minor character), mentions of animal death, blood, & viscera, including the handling and consumption of raw animal parts for ritualistic use, descriptions of gore incl. a body desecrated post-mortem (not in a sexual context)

. . .

Playlists for HYACINTH can be found on Spotify and Youtube.

Acknowledgements

My endless gratitude goes out to:

Freydís Moon, for beta reading and cheering on this story from bones to body.

Gabriel Hargrave, for editing and helping me polish this story at the eleventh hour.

Key Lee, for beautifully immortalizing my trans death deity.

My fellow writing compatriots and their unwavering support.

Thank you all so much. It means the fucking world.

- elle

The first step out of the lighthouse was into a full blast of noon wind. Leon tugged the collar of his coat higher and dragged the door shut behind him. There was no need to lock it—he hadn’t had visitors since he was a boy, and none of his possessions were worth looting.

Strapped to Leon’s back was a tall basket with a hinged lid, big enough to carry supplies to and from the village. He lived alone, both his parents gone years before, and he devoted the patchy hours of the night to maintaining the lighthouse’s lamp. The rest of the village kept the expected waking hours, so a weekly midday trip was required to stock his pantry.

Leon passed his small garden set off from the stone path and eyed the flowering squash vines and caged tomato plants: heirlooms from his family, low effort and high yield, but the tomato sprouts were looking pithy. But storms were inbound, and Leon hoped he’d soon see tomatoes spilling over the top of their metal enclosures.

The landscape ahead parted into distinct halves—the forest to the northeast, rolling hills to the northwest. The coastline curved around the mouth of the village, the harbor already full of fishing boats returning from their sunrise expeditions.

Leon ambled down the hill toward the village. The wind carried the smell of yeast from the bakery; a tempting suggestion, since he knew cherries were in season, and Mimette’s turnovers were worth double their weight in coin. As he crossed the village boundary, he eyed the bakery’s display windows with a watering mouth but sourly kept to his route. A lighthouse keeper’s salary didn’t allow for anything other than necessities.

His gaze only returned to apprise his appearance: his shoulders slouched, his hair had grown wiry and wild, and his salt-and-bourbon beard needed trimming and shaping. He turned away from his reflection with a dignified huff, pleased that his self-imposed hermitry seeped into his appearance. At least it would keep the cheery small talk of any villagers he passed to a minimum.

The butcher was nestled beside the bakery, with cured shanks trussed up in the front windows. Leon preferred to hunt his own—small game, mostly, since deer provided more than he could eat in a month—but he brought his kills to the butcher to skin and process.

The general store lay further down the row of shops, cluttered and comfortable in a way that reminded Leon of his own cozy domicile. The interior shelves were stacked with tins of salted fish and jars of pickled vegetables. Sacks of wheat flour and cane sugar lined an entry aisle. The shop offered household items as well: wood-handled hair brushes with short, thick bristles; shaving cream and fragrant beard oil; cleaning supplies in nondescript packaging.

And condoms, apparently, which Leon stared at before averting his eyes, as if he’d been flashed with nudity. Those were new. His face grew hot at the thought of someone requesting them from old Gustav, the shopkeeper, though no particular faces came to mind. When children came of age, they tended to move away to other villages in need of strong backs or to the nearest city that Leon had only seen in photographs.

The front counter remained unattended as Leon shuffled around the shop, gathering his usual selections in his basket—tinned salmon and canned vegetables, a