╰┈➤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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━ ⭒─⭑━
Another week passed.
And if the last one had been hard, this one might've actually driven you mad.
You were still on bedrest.
Still.
Despite the fact you could walk, stretch, spin a little if no one was looking.
Despite the fact your ribs barely ached anymore, and your lungs hadn't seized once in four days.
Despite every insistent "I'm fine" you muttered under your breath or tried to explain to the physician when they tilted their head with that patient little frown.
At this point, it felt less like rest and more like house arrest.
No—worse.
You weren't just in any room now. You were in the royal wing. A place that made you feel like a relic—something precious but breakable, tucked away from the world in case the air outside chipped your shine.
Every time you so much as approached the door to leave, someone was there.
A guard—someone you'd once known as just a friend from the kitchen halls or the training grounds—now stiff and silent, stationed with a firm nod and an apologetic smile.
They didn't stop you. They never had to.
Because after the third time of catching someone watching your every move, the moment they caught sight of you...
You stopped trying.
You told yourself it was fine. That this was your choice.
But it didn't feel like one.
So you stayed.
Inside.
Always inside.
Lady seemed to sense it. She'd curl tighter around your ankles when you got that look in your eyes, the one that glanced toward the window a little too long. She'd nose your hand, drag your attention to her, rolling onto her back like a baby in need of constant fussing.
Like she knew you were pacing inside your own skull.
Which is exactly what you were doing now.
Stretched out on your bed—upside down, your head hanging over the side, your legs slung over the top post—you tried (and failed) to pluck a clean melody from your lyre.
The strings sounded different this way. Muffled. Slightly warped. But it was a challenge, and right now? That was the closest thing you had to excitement.
