Prompt: Greek Myth.

The wind has no face, but a voice so loud and clear that many people fear the power of a slight breeze.
The wind once had a name that many knew, a face so beautiful that even Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, was jealous of, and Apollo, the most beautiful of all the Gods, was drawn to.
What we know as wind, not air or oxygen, but what moves the leaves and what moves the oxygen and air around, was once called Marcane(Mark-Cane-EE).
She had locks of pure white hair, eyes so dark they were black, but changed chades with her emotions, just as clouds do when a storm if approaching. She was fast and swift on her feet, but was easily angered, so many feared to talk to her, too afriad to anger her in any way. Soon becoming lonesome, she sought out Apollo.
"Apollo, God of the Sun, oh will you take me in your carriage?" She asked him, batting her eyes like a doe, eyes glassy.
Unable to resist, Apollo brought her to his carriage, where his horses grazed nearby, for it was dark and his twin., Artemis, ruled the sky for now with her silver bow.
"It's beautiful. I have grown to be so lonesom Apollo," she told him, wringing her soft hands around his wrists, pulling him along.
Apollo eased his wrists from her hands easily, and led her over to his carriot, his hand on her lower back.
"Marcane, what have you been doing?" He asked, curiousity clouding his voice.
"Wandering and speaking to the mortals, the ones who aren't afriad of my anger," she replies with ease.
Apollo nods slowly.
"Your anger is easily triggered, as well as many other Gods, such as myself," he tells her.
Marcane jumps back suddenly, tears springing to her glass eyes, pain filling her face like water.
Gasping, she lets out, "My back! Your touch suddenly burned back back!" Pulling up the hem of her tunic, she shows Apollo the red, hand-like burn on her lower back.
Before Apollo can process anything that is going on, Marcane was gone, running away, trees swaying, clouds churning.
Once she was calm, the trees stilled and the clouds began to roll at their lazy pace across the sky, white fluffs against blue.
Confused, she went to to talk to other gods and goddesses, and soon found out there had been a curse laid upon her. Soon, she found out who had placed such curse.
"HERA!" She screeched, racing to Mount Olympus.
"Yes, dear child?" Hera asked calmly, meeting Marcane at the bottom of the large mountain.
"Why place a curse on me? I have shown no ill feelings toward you," she snapped angrily.
Hera kept her cool and calm composure.
"You, Marcane, run around like you're the greatest of us all. You're mother did too, and Zeus liked that about her. Zeus is your father, he is my husband, and I am not your mother. I have no use for a distraction of Zeus' already futile mind. I have no use for you, for you cause havoc with your anger, tearing trees, killing mortals. I curse you to roam for the rest of eternity, always searching for something you can't find, company. You will run over oceans and lands. I curse you to seeth and rot in your own anger, which will cause destruction. You will give companionship, but you will never have it for yourself." Hera said, loud and clear for all to hear.
Ince by inch, Marcane started to vanish. Soon, her legs were gone, then her hands and arms, then finally, her head was gone with the rest of her body. The wind, usually calm and only a slight breeze with the breathing of all the living being, began to pick up strongly, slapping at Hera's dress and skin, howls and wails raising, sounding like a woman's pained wails, coming from the strong gusts.
"What have you done Hera?" Apollo asked her, having to of watched the whole thing.
"When the skies are clear and the air does not need to be churned and wrecked, she will accompany you, the moment you're charriot lifts off the ground, to when it touches the ground again. But when rain falls and clouds cover your carriage, she will cuase havoc, blowing her mighty breathe and waving her arms through forests, tearing down trees and throwing water in all directions," Hera told him, then walked away, going back to Olympus.
Apollo hurried back to his palace, grateful that it was his turn to rule the sky and to light the earth with his fire. He fetched his mares and tidied the charriot, then got into his charriot, and ascended into the air, pulling the heat and light along with him, for the mortals below him. Once the land below him was warmed and lit, he relaxed, feeling the air churn slightly to his right.
"Apollo," the wind whispered, it's silky fingers grazing his cheek.
"Marcane?" He called.
In the seat to his right, a glass-like figure appeared. She had long, flowing hair that trailed behind her, disappearing into the invisible air, but flowing around her, looking as though she was under water, the rest of her features tranparent, but visible. She smiled at him.
"I'll keep you company up here Apollo, so you never grow lonely," she told him.
No one was ever alone, because Marcane was always there, always in more places then one, her dress stretching across lands, the trendils of her hair stirring water. No one was ever, truely, alone.

Sorry for all the spelling mistakes, I'm working with a shitty keyboard.