╰┈➤𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ ❝You've always been my little muse.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you're the object of many powerful men desires; from gods to warriors...they all want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 🇵🇴🇸🇹-ᴇᴘɪᴄ: ᴛᴍ!ᴀᴜ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
[𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤/𝐟𝐢𝐜...
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: telemachus (pic above and at a/n) will be casted by wolfythewitch; he's perfectly how i envision him...
━ ⭑─⭒━
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━ ⭒─⭑━
The halls of the palace were empty this early in the morning, silent except for the faint echoes of your footsteps. The stone floors were cool beneath your sandals as you moved gracefully, carrying a tray carefully balanced with food and drink for the queen.
The scents of breakfast wafted upwards—a fresh loaf of bread, drizzled with honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds, alongside a bowl of ripe figs and a small serving of olives. A jug of goat's milk rested next to the plate, the cool liquid sloshing slightly as you walked.
You had walked these halls so many times that you barely needed to think about where you were going, your feet knowing the way on their own, your movements steady and confident. Yet, you couldn't help but reflect on how different this all felt from when you first arrived
Back then, you had been a frightened, scrawny child, uncertain if you would even find a place here.
Now, after years of training and being in Penelope's service, you had grown into someone with purpose, someone the queen trusted and relied upon
You passed by tapestries depicting scenes of Ithaca's heroes, the vibrant colors muted in the early morning light.
You often found yourself drawn to these tapestries, seeing in them reflections of the great stories Penelope would tell you. They reminded you of the legacy you were now a part of, a history that you had once thought too grand for someone like you
As you reached a large set of double doors, you paused for a moment before gently knocking. The sound echoed softly down the empty hallway, and you waited until you heard the gentle voice from within:
"Come in."
You pushed the heavy door open, entering the room with a bowed head.
Penelope sat at the windowsill, dressed in her mourning clothes—a deep, rich purple robe, embroidered delicately along the edges. Her dark hair was partially covered by a veil, the fabric thin enough to let light pass through, giving her a ghostly, almost ethereal appearance.
She looked out across the sea, her gaze distant, the waves shimmering under the morning sun. When she heard you enter, she turned, her lips curling into a soft, tired smile. Even as she smiled, the weight of her sorrow remained, etched into her features—a weariness that never seemed to leave her.
"Ah, ____," she said, her voice gentle, yet carrying the weight of her lingering sorrow.
You curtsied, lowering your head respectfully. "Good morning, Queen Penelope. I've come to help you break your fast."
