╰┈➤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...
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━ ⭒─⭑━
You woke with a gasp-sharp and sudden.
The ceiling above you was unfamiliar and blinding in the early light. You stared at it for a long moment, breath ragged, limbs stiff and unmoving, your mind struggling to remember how to be alive again.
Then, slowly, shakily, you pushed yourself upright.
Your palms pressed into the bedding beneath you-cool sheets, slightly rough-and your body moved as if made of stone, aching in ways you couldn't explain. The air felt too thin, your lungs refusing to fill completely. You looked around in a daze, heart pounding.
The room was... quiet. Still.
But everything in you was not.
Your hand shot up to your head as a sharp, stabbing pain bloomed behind your eyes, like something was being pried open. You clutched the side of your skull, wincing as your breath hitched-and then the panic hit. Hard.
Your chest swelled with a crushing tightness as flashes tore through your mind-frantic, splintering images.
A gleam of metal.
A cry in your throat.
That knife. The way it swung down, fast, too fast to stop-
That burning, white-hot pain that cut through your ribs and made everything else fade.
You remembered collapsing. The taste of blood.
And then...
The mists.
Hermes' arms, warm and trembling with something unspoken. The quiet glow of the ghost blooms. The soft coo of a spirit child. Polites' voice, like a song. Your mother's hands on your face. Your father's lips pressed to your forehead.
A sob clawed its way up your throat.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, your lungs seizing like they weren't sure they knew how to breathe in this world anymore.
Because... you were dead.
You had died.
You had actually died.
And not in the metaphorical sense. Not fainted. Not "barely holding on." Not some dramatic brush with death.
No, your heart had stopped. You had crossed that threshold. Stepped into the mists. Seen the Fields. Held your parents. Sang to the dead.
And now... you were here.
Alive again.
But the weight of that truth-what it meant, what it cost-hit you all at once, and your heart couldn't keep up.
