╰┈➤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...
[EDIT: JUNE 15, 2025] GUYS! IT'S JUST CAME TO MY ATTTENTION THAT THE ENTIRE CHAPTER IS ENTIRELY FUCKED UP---LIKE SENTENCES ARE OUT OF WACK, WORDS REPLACED WITH BLOCKS! I SENT A REUEST TO WATTPAD SUPPORT, HOPEFULLY THEY GET IT FIXED! IF NOT, I'LL REUPLOADT THE CHAPTER 😭😭 I'M SO SORRY Y'ALL HAD TO SUFFER THROUGH THIS, MY FAULT Y'ALL, THAT NUDIE PICK GOT ME FLAGGED 🙃
━ ⭑─⭒━
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━ ⭒─⭑━
The sun wasn't supposed to rise like this.
Not with fire at your heels and gold in your throat.
But that's what it felt like when Olympus pulled you in—not like arriving, but like waking from a dream that had already burned you alive.
And you weren't even standing.
You were still in his arms.
Everything swam around you—too soft, too slow, too strange. Like your body was still falling and hadn't realized it yet. You weren't even sure if you were you anymore. Your body floated somewhere between sleep and survival, light and limp, the ache behind your ribs dulling to something quiet and distant.
The warmth that wrapped around you wasn't just from him—it was everywhere. In the air. In the clouds. In the sky that shimmered too bright, like it had been painted with liquid gold.
It should've been beautiful. And maybe it was.
You could feel it—barely. The way the clouds curled like silk around the marble spires. The way the wind smelled like orange blossom and clean linen and sunlight on water.
You were high above the world now, your heart still thudding slow and sore in your chest, and Olympus greeted you like you belonged.
But you didn't look.
Not really.
You couldn't.
Because all you could focus on was the horror still circling your skull like vultures.
You weren't supposed to be here.
You were a patch stitched over someone else's death.
A dream made real only because he needed it to be.
A prophecy had whispered your name before your lungs had ever filled with air.
And instead of letting fate take you, Apollo had caught you. Not because you were you. But because he couldn't stand being alone anymore.
You felt sick.
The light stung your eyes. His arms felt like iron.