╰┈➤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 ch.48 ┃ 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲; (this chapter is what occured in those 3 days under water etc.); HAPPY EASTER!!! though i don't celebrate i do enjoy the way families come together and whatnot ❤️ also... SUPRISE DOUBLE-UPDATE!! since last chappie was so short and i usually double-update with divine whispers, hope you all enjoy~
━ ⭑─⭒━
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━ ⭒─⭑━
You thought you'd passed out the moment you hit the water—thought it was over. But your mind stirred like a door creaking open. And when your eyes blinked open, slow and heavy, it wasn't the ship you saw.
It was water.
Endless. Weightless.
The world was quiet—too quiet. Muffled and still, like you'd slipped behind a curtain the sea didn't want anyone else to see past. There was no storm now. No screaming. No lightning. Just... blue.
Endless, dark blue.
Your limbs floated loosely at your sides. Your hair drifted like seaweed, weightless and strange. Bubbles curled from your nose, drifting upward toward a surface you couldn't see. Couldn't feel.
And for a moment—just one—you were calm.
Then the panic hit.
You twisted, kicking hard. Turned too fast. A jolt of nausea spun through your chest as you realized where you were, how deep, how far, how cold—
Your arms flailed once, trying to orient yourself, and your pulse thudded sharp behind your eyes. Up. Up. Where was up?
Your gaze darted around wildly. The world looked the same in every direction. Shimmering and dark and slow. Your own limbs looked distorted against the water. Soft like marble. Distant like they weren't yours anymore.
You kicked again.
Hard.
Your chest screamed.
And then your brain—your dumb, hopeful brain—flashed back to those summers in the palace courtyard.
You remembered this feeling. Not the fear. The movement.
You remembered games—summers in the royal baths when the palace staff would turn a blind eye. You and the other servant children splashing beneath the colonnades, daring each other to hold your breath the longest.
Loser had to mop the hallway. Winner got the biggest fig from the tray.
