𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ᵉ*ᵗᵐ

31 ┃ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐞

━ ⭑─⭒━

━ ⭒─⭑━

The festival had come and gone, but its aftermath lingered like the fading echoes of a song. What should have been a return to normalcy was anything but.

After Telemachus' open declaration—after he had placed the victor's crown upon your head for all to see—Apollo's signs began to grow.

At first, it was subtle, almost easy to dismiss as mere coincidence. Small things.

A missing item suddenly appearing in your path.

A tune you had forgotten returning to your mind as though whispered on the wind.

A lost earring—a piece you hadn't even noticed had fallen—laid neatly upon your windowsill by morning, gleaming in the first light of dawn.

You could almost ignore those. Almost.

But then, the gifts became more... deliberate. Too deliberate.

One day, you had merely thought—just thought—about how you missed your favorite snack, how you wished for something sweet to chase away the salt of your meal. Barely an hour later, a kitchen servant came bustling toward you, a plate in her hands.

"This was just left on the counter," she had said, offering it to you with a puzzled look as if confused by her actions. "No one claimed it. Thought you might've... wanted it?"

It was exactly what you had been craving.

Then came the trinkets.

At first, it was feathers, delicate white and gold, tucked into your path as if the wind had scattered them there with purpose.

Then, a small pendant—a polished sunstone carved with the faintest etching of a lyre—dropped into your hands from a passing bird's beak. The swallow had circled your head once before flying off, its wings flashing gold in the sunlight.

And with it, a message had lingered in the air, as if whispered directly into your mind.

"A bright gift for a bright muse."

Your breath had hitched.

It just didn't stop.

Birds came more frequently, each bearing something small—rings, bracelets, delicate pins shaped like laurel leaves. Every single one gleamed gold. Every single one was divine.

It wasn't just trinkets, either.

More than once, you had found yourself outside, only to notice the way the animals reacted. Swallows, doves, even hawks—they hovered, they circled, some perching just within reach as if awaiting a command. Deer had wandered closer when you passed through the gardens, their dark eyes unblinking, bodies completely still as they watched you.