╰┈➤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 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙
📖A mythic slow-burn, spiralin...
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: here's a bit of extra scenes/plot to 34 ┃ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 ; i just had to finally make it clear our boi tele isnt just waiting in the backround and decided to add a few more scenes of penelope being mother cuz she dersves the hype.
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Telemachus walked along Ithaca's courtyard, the night air cool against his skin.
Dinner had long since ended. He had lingered at the table for a while, half-listening to his father's musings and Callias' dramatic recounting of the hunt, but his mind had been elsewhere. You had never returned. He had expected you to—had even glanced toward the doors a few times, waiting, expecting to see you slip back in with some excuse about needing air, or checking on Lady.
But you never came.
So instead of brooding in the hall, he had excused himself, deciding that a walk might clear his head.
It didn't.
Telemachus exhaled, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he strode across the courtyard's stone path, boots scuffing against the well-worn ground. The distant waves lapped against the cliffs below, a soothing, steady sound—but it did little to quiet the thoughts racing through his mind.
This had become a pattern, hadn't it? You, slipping further from his reach, drawn into the orbit of gods who seemed determined to claim pieces of you for themselves. And him, left trailing behind, stuck somewhere between the role of prince and something... less. Something unworthy of standing beside you.
The gods—Apollo especially—had made their interest in you clear. It was enough to stoke something ugly in his chest. As if you were theirs. As if they were entitled to you.
The thought twisted in his stomach, a sickening coil of frustration and something dangerously close to jealousy.
But what could he do?
He was just a man. A mortal. And they were—
Something flickered in his peripheral vision.
Telemachus halted mid-step, his breath catching.
A light.
It had been quick, just a flash, but it was enough to draw his attention. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he scanned the courtyard's edge, where the stone pathways gave way to open grass.
And then he saw it.
For the briefest moment, just beyond the turn of the corridor—golden light, radiant and shimmering, fading into nothing.
