╰┈➤𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ━━ ❝I envy those ignorant to the way Gods toy with us.❞
𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛- you're the object of many powerful men desires; from gods to warriors...they all want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ᴇᴘɪᴄ: ᴛᴍ!ᴀᴜ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
[𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤/𝐟�...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━ ⭒─⭑━
The morning sun filtered gently through the open windows, casting a golden glow across Queen Penelope's chambers. The light was soft, barely warm, and it turned the curtains into gauzy veils, making them sway gently with the breeze that carried the scent of the herbs growing outside.
You were pouring a delicate herbal infusion, the scent of rosemary and mint rising into the air, into a silver cup etched with Athena's myth. The intricate designs on the cup shimmered in the morning light, depicting the goddess in battle, her spear raised high.
The steam curled up in gentle wisps, twisting and dissipating into the soft morning light. You carefully controlled the stream, tilting the clay vessel slowly to ensure not a single drop spilled.
Penelope's voice filled the room, smooth and wistful, as she spoke of simpler days—her youth, the laughter of her childhood—spent exploring the olive groves, of secret hiding spots near the cliffs, and of the scent of the sea that lingered in her hair long after she returned home. Her gaze drifted toward the open window, her eyes losing focus as if she could see those groves once more, stretching endlessly before her.
Her fingers absently traced the rim of her cup, following the contours as she spoke, her lips curving into a small, almost bittersweet smile. There was a soft sigh, barely audible, as if she were reluctant to return to the present.
You listened attentively, nodding occasionally as you steadied the clay vessel holding the water; your gaze flickered between the steaming infusion and the queen, taking in her every word. Each story she told felt like a thread weaving a vivid tapestry of her past, and you could almost see it—young Penelope, her laughter ringing through the hills of Sparta, her eyes bright and free of worry.
There was a soft sigh, barely audible, as if she were reluctant to return to the present. Her voice, usually commanding and full of responsibility, now held a gentleness—a vulnerability that she rarely showed.
But the quiet intimacy of the moment was interrupted by a sudden, firm knock at the chamber door. Penelope paused mid-sentence, her brows arching slightly as her gaze shifted towards the door.
You gave her a reassuring smile before setting the cloth down beside the shallow clay vessel holding the hot herbal water; you smoothed out the creases in your dress, the fabric rustling softly as you moved towards the door.
Your hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment before you pulled it open.
The door creaked slightly, and your eyes immediately met Telemachus'. His face was scrunched in a frown, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. But the moment his eyes landed on you, his expression softened. A smile began to tug at his lips, and you could feel one growing on yours in return.
