𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ᵉ*ᵗᵐ

12 ┃ 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞

━ ⭑─⭒━

━ ⭒─⭑━

The next few days trickled by like smoke, slow and lingering, with a heaviness that clung to your skin.

As promised, Eurycleia alerted Queen Penelope of your state, prompting the queen to personally encourage you to rest, to take the time you needed. And so you confined yourself to your room, grateful for the solitude.

You knew, eventually, you would have to leave this room, that you couldn't stay hidden away forever—but for now, the quiet, the separation from the palace, it all felt like a welcome escape.

You couldn't bear the thought of seeing Andreia, of being anywhere near her without feeling the raw ache threatening to break you all over again.

It had been three days since the incident, and you were still trying.

Every day, the hours blurred together in your attempts to mend the lyre, as if somehow putting its broken pieces back together might also mend the fractures within you.

The delicate wood, worn and fragile, lay spread across your bed.

You had tried to fit the jagged pieces back together, to wrap the broken arm, to glue and bind—but no matter what you did, the damage was done.

You knew, deep down, it was beyond repair, that no amount of delicate handling or tender care could truly restore it to what it once was. But that knowledge didn't stop you.

You couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Even if the strings could never make the same sound again, even if the wood splintered at the slightest pressure, you kept trying.

And just like on the very first night, you found yourself kneeling before your bed, your fingers trembling as you attempted to notch one of the strings back in place.

The lyre sat there, pitifully wrapped with coarse string to keep the fragile wood held together, its once elegant form marred by splints and knots.

You tried to align the notch, leaning closer, your brow furrowing as you concentrated, your lips slightly parted in determination. But as soon as you tried to tighten the string, it slipped, snapping back off with a harsh twang, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet of the room.

You sighed in frustration, the breath leaving your chest in a heavy rush as you slumped backward, sitting back on your haunches. You rubbed your face with both hands, the exhaustion weighing on you, making your muscles feel heavy, your fingers aching from the hours of effort.

Slowly, you let your hands fall away, your gaze drifting toward the window. The light of dusk filtered into your room, painting the walls in hues of orange and pink, a soft glow that seemed almost at odds with the frustration bubbling inside you.