╰┈➤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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━ ⭒─⭑━
The remainder of the night passed in a blur of lights, laughter, and the lingering warmth of celebration.
The festival had seamlessly transitioned into the grand feast, where long tables stretched across the open-air courtyard, heavy with platters of roasted meats, steaming vegetables, fragrant loaves of bread, and golden honeyed pastries that made your mouth water. Wine flowed freely, filling goblets to the brim, and the sound of music and clinking cups blended into the hum of conversation.
Before the feast had officially begun, Penelope had caught you off guard—snatched was the more accurate term—and pulled you away before you could protest. Within moments, you found yourself ushered into one of the grand chambers, surrounded by a flurry of attendants at the queen's command.
"Absolutely not!" she had huffed, waving a dismissive hand when you weakly tried to insist that you were fine as you were. "Tonight, you are not a servant, nor are you an entertainer. You are Ithaca's Divine Liaison, and you will look the part."
And with that, you were stuffed into a breathtaking gown—a stunning fusion of both Ithaca and Bronte's colors, woven in deep ocean blues, forest greens, and streaks of rich gold. Delicate embroidery lined the sleeves and bodice, tiny patterns resembling olive branches and laurels intertwined with Brontean crests.
To complete the look, Penelope personally placed the flower crown from the tournament atop your head, adjusting it with a proud smile. "There," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "Now, one final thing."
You barely had time to blink before she gently took your lyre from your hands.
"Ah—wait, but—"
She tsked, shaking her head. "No playing tonight. I forbid it."
"Queen Penelope—"
"Ah-ah." She waggled a playful finger before handing the lyre to Eurycleia to put back in your room. "Tonight, you're going to enjoy yourself. No performances, no duties—just eat, drink, and be merry." Then, with a mischievous wink, she looped her arm through yours and led you straight to the heart of the feast.
And now, hours later, you sat comfortably at one of the large tables near the food, deep in conversation with Lysandra and Asta. The two Brontean women had been regaling you with stories of their homeland—particularly about a certain individual who, much to your surprise, Andreia hated with a passion.
"Wait, wait, wait," you gasped, eyes wide. "She couldn't touch her? And yet, her status was below Andreia's?" You leaned in, utterly intrigued.
