𝑷𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 🧵

As the dust settled over the battlefield, I stumbled away from the scene, my legs weak and unsteady. The cries of mourning echoed in my ears, a cacophony of despair that grew louder with each step. I felt as if the world were collapsing around me, the walls of Troy closing in with the weight of my grief. I burst through the doors of my private bath chamber, collapsing against the cool stone wall, gasping for breath as waves of sorrow washed over me. The familiar scent of fragrant oils and warm water was now tainted by the bitter taste of loss, a cruel reminder of the man I could never hold again.

I burst through the doors of my private bathing chamber, collapsing against the cool stone wall, gasping for breath as waves of sorrow crashed over me. The familiar scent of fragrant oils and warm water was now tainted by the bitter taste of loss, a cruel reminder of the man I could never hold again.

"Lady Sabryna!" my handmaidens rushed in, their faces pale with concern. "What has happened?"

But their words were drowned out by the tumultuous tide of anguish swelling within me. I barely heard them as I sank to my knees, my fingers gripping the edges of the marble basin, the coolness of the stone a sharp contrast to the heat of my tears. They flowed freely now, hot and unrelenting, as I wept for Hector, for the love that had been ripped from my life, and for the chains that still bound me to Achilles.

"Prepare the water," I managed to whisper, my voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. "I need to cleanse myself."

My handmaidens sprang into action, their movements swift and practiced. They filled the basin with steaming water, pouring in fragrant oils that swirled like memories in the liquid. I watched numbly, the sights and sounds around me fading into a blur, obscured by the fog of despair that clouded my mind. As they guided me to the edge of the basin, I peered into the water, seeing a reflection that felt like a stranger. My heart-shaped face, once full of warmth and light, now appeared shadowed and broken. The weight of my attachment to Achilles pressed down on me like a heavy shroud, suffocating and oppressive.

"Lady Sabryna, let us help you," one of my handmaidens urged gently, her hands warm as she eased me into the water. The heat enveloped me, and I shivered, the contrast between the warmth of the bath and the coldness in my heart amplifying my sorrow.

As I sank deeper, the water rose around me, mirroring the swell of my emotions. I closed my eyes, allowing the tears to flow freely, mingling with the warm liquid, as I envisioned the moments I had shared with Hector—the laughter, the warmth, the dreams we had woven together. Then that dream shattered, replaced by the relentless image of Achilles standing over Hector's lifeless body, dragging him through the dirt as if he were nothing.

"Achilles!" I spat, my voice breaking through the sound of the water. "You took him from me! You destroyed everything we had!"

As I closed my eyes again, I imagined Hector's smile, the way his eyes lit up at the mere sound of my voice. In that moment, I vowed to rid myself of Achilles, to forget the man who had torn my world apart. I would not let his shadow linger in my heart.

"Never again," I whispered into the silence of the chamber, tears flowing anew as I cradled my heart. "I will forget you, Achilles. I will forget."

But deep down, I knew the truth: the pain of his betrayal would forever be etched in my soul, and the love I had for Hector would remain a haunting reminder of what could have been. The echoes of that fateful day lingered like a ghost, and as I submerged myself beneath the water, I realized that true cleansing was impossible; the scars of war and love ran too deep.

Suddenly I felt a wave of nausea crash over me. The heat of the bath intensified, and a sickening churn twisted in my stomach.

"Lady Sabryna!" one of my handmaidens exclaimed, rushing to my side. "Are you unwell?"

Before I could respond, the queasiness surged, and I leaned over the basin, heaving as the contents of my stomach threatened to escape. My handmaidens quickly gathered around me, their hands steadying me, a mix of concern and fear in their eyes.

"Breathe, my lady. You must breathe," another urged, her voice calm yet urgent.

The warmth of the water felt suffocating as I struggled to regain control, my body wracked with sobs and heaves. One of my handmaidens, her brow furrowed, hesitated before speaking gently, "Might it be...a sign, my lady? Perhaps you are with child?"

The words hung in the air like a haunting specter, and I froze, the thought sending a fresh wave of emotions crashing over me. I looked down, suddenly aware of the way my body felt different—the fullness in my chest, the swelling that had gone unnoticed amidst my grief.

"Do you think so?" I managed to whisper, the reality of it settling heavily on my heart.

"We shall fetch the healer," one of them said urgently, glancing at me with a mixture of hope and apprehension. "But first, let us care for you." They helped me sit back, guiding my trembling form away from the basin. As I leaned against the cool stone, dread and uncertainty spiraled within me, intertwining with my grief. The gentle touch of my handmaidens felt like a lifeline in a storm, their hands steadying me as I tried to gather my thoughts, but the chaos within was relentless. I could feel their concern wrapping around me, softening the harsh edges of my despair. One handmaiden brushed the damp hair from my forehead, her fingers cool against my flushed skin, while another knelt beside me, pressing a cloth soaked in cold water to my neck.

"Breathe, my lady," she murmured softly, her voice a soothing balm against the tempest in my mind. "Just breathe."

But how could I breathe when the weight of my heartbreak threatened to suffocate me? I could still see Hector's lifeless body, his noble spirit extinguished, and it felt as though a gaping chasm had opened in my chest. I shuddered, tears spilling down my cheeks once more, mingling with the remnants of my earlier sickness.

—

The night enveloped Troy in a heavy blanket of darkness, the only sounds the distant echoes of the city settling into uneasy silence. I lay in my chamber, utterly exhausted yet unable to quiet my racing thoughts. The weight of the day's events hung around me like an oppressive fog, and the fear of what tomorrow might bring loomed large in my mind. How would I find solace in sleep when every breath felt like a reminder of Hector's fate? As I stared at the ceiling, the shadows danced in the flickering candlelight, twisting and turning like the turmoil in my heart. I longed for rest but feared the nightmares that would surely follow. The ache of my grief clung to me, and I closed my eyes, willing myself to drift into a merciful slumber. A soft knock interrupted my solitude, and one of my handmaidens entered, her presence a gentle balm in the suffocating darkness. "My lady," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I've brought you something to help you sleep."

She approached with a small clay cup filled with a fragrant herbal brew, steam curling into the air. "It's a sleep tea," she explained, her tone soothing. "It will ease your mind and help you find rest."

I took the cup from her hands, grateful for her kindness. "Thank you," I replied, my voice barely a whisper. I lifted the cup to my lips and took a cautious sip. The warm liquid was sweet and earthy, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace.

As she tucked the sheets carefully around me, she hesitated for a moment, glancing down as if considering her next words carefully. Leaning in close, she whispered, "If you are with child, my lady...there are ways to ease the burden, should you wish it." Her tone was soft, filled with concern, but laced with the unspoken weight of her offer.

I turned my head slightly, meeting her gaze, and for a moment, I couldn't find the words. The suggestion lingered in the air between us, heavy and unsettling. "Ease the burden?" I repeated, my voice barely audible.

She nodded slowly. "A simple brew, my lady. Nothing harmful, but...it could make the choice easier." Her eyes flickered with something—compassion, perhaps. Or was it pity? I couldn't tell.

The thought sent a shiver through me, and I pressed my hands against my stomach, feeling the weight of uncertainty settle there. Achilles...or Hector? The question loomed, but I wasn't ready to face the answer. The tea worked its magic, and as my eyelids grew heavy, I let the darkness wash over me, hoping it would bring solace.