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Apollo's colour of choice was gold.
But first, it had been silver. His clothes, the jewellery adorning his skin, even his bow had been silver when he went to slaughter Python, and avenge his week old family.
The silver against his bronze skin made a beautiful contrast, highlighting the subtle toning of his muscles and the softness of his skin. Better yet, he matched completely with Artemis. They might have looked completely different otherwise, but the cool toned metal was a symbol of unity he treasured dearly.
Six days after his birth, Apollo watched his father coldly take his silver bow from him, brush his hand against his cheek, and turn him to meet the crowd of Olympus. Zeus kept a firm grip on his neck as Apollo smiled through the pain.
"Watch my son; Apollo! Slayer of Python, and the newest addition to Olympus! As golden as he is bright, and as beautiful as the sun's dawn each morning!"
Discreetly Apollo hid a bracelet made of silver links behind his back. He and Artemis had each gotten one from their mother, and he didn't want to be torn apart from it in this new and strange place just because it didn't fit his image.
It didn't matter: it was soon discovered as the eleven gods sat around the table, three chairs empty. Apollo wished more than ever that his sister was there, but he hadn't seen her since he left Delos three days past.
It was Hera who commented on it, "How odd a choice. How about this? It fits your natural complexion better." She said, as she took the small chain from him and replaced it with one of her own. A second later, he watched her throw the bracelet from Olympus.
He never saw it again, and had to lie to his sister what happened with it when he finally got home again. He said he lost it, but he saw her calculating eyes take in all of the gold the other gods had put on him, and say nothing. She knew he was lying, and perhaps that was why she refused to speak with him after making sure he had survived unscathed from his fight with the giant snake.
A while later he got a new bow, made entirely of gold. A gift from his father, courtesy of the forges of Hephaestus.
Apollo expressed as sincere a gratitude as he could, and put the new bow on display on his rooms to collect dust. He felt done with hunting and the violence, the feeling of scales constricting his skin stopping him from even considering anything else.
The gold he didn't mind, as much of the ever present reminder that
And when the prayers and offerings started, his collection of gold grew greater than his deepest expectations. It was intoxicating seeing the love mortals held for him. Far be it from the gently touch of his mother, or the not-so-gently touch of his sister, but it filled a hole he didn't know existed. Even if all the gold made him feel smaller and smaller in his own home.
With time, he even started to like the gold he got dressed up in. As the years went by, more and more of it become incorporated into his design: where before he held a wreath made of laurels, his head now held the very same thing but of solid gold. It was unbelievably heavy.
Artemis said that going into the sun palace felt like being embraced by Midas himself. He laughed, but inside he wondered what it would feel like if he himself turned to gold. He almost yearned for the future where he could feel his insides slowly corrupt and harden.
As he watched the ichor crawl from under his skin, he conceded that gold complimented his appearance better. Each cut was a new artwork, enhancing his own beauty just that little bit more - bringing him just a bit closer to perfection.
Gold was perfect, and pure. Gold meant he was worth something. Who needed silver, especially when he had a steady supply of gold at his command? Already ready to burst forth into world and testify of his divinity.
So every night he sat inside his palace, hidden under a window from the moons pale light, and summoned the gold beneath his skin. It hurt, but it was worth it. Beauty was pain, after all, and he needed to be the most beautiful of them all.
Besides, what was a few moments of pain against the tide of suffering he had experience before?
In the morning the golden the streams would be healed and gond, leaving only the faintest of gold shimmer left on his skin; easily explained by his natural looks.
Apollo looked in the mirror and smiled.
Gold truly went with everything.