╰┈➤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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━ ⭒─⭑━
Sleep was peaceful. The mattress cradled you like it meant to keep you. The inn groaned now and then with the wind, but it was soft. Comforting. Like the whole world was finally exhaling around you.
At some point, your mouth even slipped open, your legs tangling into the sheets, as the last tight coil inside your chest unwound and floated away like smoke.
So you slept.
Safe.
Still.
Until—
THUD. THUD. THUD.
You jolted so hard your heart slammed straight up into your throat as you sat bolt upright. The room spun for a second—walls tilting, light swimming. Lady was already halfway to the floor, her hackles raised, a low growl rumbling deep in her chest.
Another trio of THUDs followed right after it, followed by a muffled voice—too blurred to make out, but sharp, impatient. A demand, not a question.
Lady barked once, loud and sharp.
You winced, your hand shooting up to press against your temple.
Gods—everything hurt.
Your mouth was dry, sticky like you'd been chewing wool in your sleep. There was a faint, pulsing throb behind your ears—like your heartbeat had gotten stuck and didn't know where to go. Your head felt stuffed with wet cotton, every sound hitting too loud, too fast. Even the scrape of Lady's nails against the floor seemed to scratch your teeth from the inside.
Another THUD against the door.
"Alright," you rasped, throat dry and cracked. "Alright—I'm up—"
Your body moved before your mind could catch up, legs swinging off the mattress. You stood too fast—and the world tipped.
You fell.
Not gracefully.
Your knees hit the floor with a jolt, hands scrambling at the sheets, the rug, anything. The impact rattled your teeth, sent another hot pulse of wrongness through your skull.
Lady was already circling you, whining now, her body pressed tight against your side like she could keep you from slipping through the floor.
You staggered to your feet, one hand braced on the edge of the table, the other fumbling for the dagger still sheathed under your cloak. Your fingers felt clumsy, too slow, like you were moving underwater.
