Special Guest Blogger: Castor

Ah, hello there. Yes, I see you’re reading this. Don’t worry, I’m not haunting you. Much. It’s just that, in death, one develops a rather keen interest in legacy. Especially when your legacy involves twins, horses, and dying in a rather undignified manner involving a spear and someone’s poorly timed boast.
I'm half of the famed twins along with Pollux, the other one of the celestial tag team better known as the Gemini. Though, let’s be honest Pollux always got the shiny end of the constellation. Literally. He’s the immortal one. Me? I’m the mortal twin with the tragic backstory and a head injury that, frankly, still throbs.
Now, you might be wondering: “Castor, you were a Greek god! Or at least part-time divinity with excellent cheekbones—what’s there to moan about?” Well, plenty actually.
I was born, or rather, hatched, under mysterious circumstances involving a swan, a king, and a scandal that would make modern tabloids blush.
My mother, Leda, had a thing for divine poultry. Zeus, in one of his many questionable fashion choices (feathers? really?), showed up as a swan and, well, let’s just say the morning after was awkward for everyone.
Out of that feathered debauchery fiasco came four children. Me, my mortal sister Clytemnestra, and my divine siblings: Pollux (ever the golden boy) and Helen. Yes, that Helen, the face that launched a thousand ships and Family reunions were tense.
Being the mortal twin in an increasingly immortal family was tricky. Pollux could shrug off a charging bull like it was a mildly annoying toddler. I, on the other hand, once tripped over my own sandals during answering the door and faceplanted into a sacrificial pile. Not dignified.
So, I did what any self-respecting brother of a demi-god would do and became the original horse whisperer.
Horses are strong, majestic creatures, prone to kicking you in the solar plexus if you look at them funny but I didn’t just ride horses,  I bonded with them.
Pollux, of course, went the boxing route but the gods were never much for subtlety. And so, as with all good Greek tales, mine took a tragic turn. Mostly because of cows.
It started small. My cousins, Idas and Lynceus, stole some cattle so Pollux and I got on out horses and charged the cousins and demanded justice and that's where it all went pear shaped.
Idas was, frankly, built like a temple column and a fight broke out. Spears flew. Horses panicked and next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, staring at the sky and realising I’d been fatally stabbed.
Now, here’s the thing about having an immortal twin: they don’t take 'well, I’m dead now' as a final answer.
Pollux was devastated, understandably so, and went straight to Dad with one demand: 'Swap places with him. I’ll be mortal. He can be immortal. I don’t care' and Zeus was so touched by the unselfish act that  he split the immortality.
Now we take shifts. One day I’m in Elysium sipping ambrosia and next I’m back in the Underworld, playing dice with Hades and trying to avoid Cerberus and thus the constellation Gemini was born. Two stars, twinkling side by side, one bright, one slightly dimmer, like a celestial reminder that one of us was technically better at not dying.