𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ᵉ*ᵗᵐ

60 ┃ 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧

━ ⭑─⭒━

━ ⭒─⭑━

You weren't sure how long you stood there—back pressed against the wood, breath caught behind your ribs, the weight of that thing still staring at you from across the feast seared into the backs of your eyelids. You'd barely noticed your own body move, feet pulling you forward, deeper into the silence.

The hallways here were strange. Curved like ribs, veined with gold. Quiet, but not still. You walked. You didn't think. Just moved. Past oil lamps flickering along the walls. Past empty sitting rooms with gauze-draped lounges and wine trays left untouched. Past murals of gods in battle and birth, their eyes following you in paint that shimmered faintly when the light hit just right.

You kept walking. Until your hands stopped shaking. Until your chest hurt less.

Until you found the balcony.

You didn't even know you were heading toward it. It was just... there. A pair of tall arched doors already cracked open, soft light spilling through the seam. You stepped through them without question, drawn by the air. By the quiet.

The change hit you all at once—cool breeze, sweet sky, nothing but space.

And for the first time in what felt like hours, you could breathe.

You stepped out slowly, sandals brushing against the polished stone. The balcony stretched wide, held up by columns carved with stars. There were no guards. No nymphs. No gods watching from behind veils of perfume and praise.

Just you. And Olympus.

And light.

You moved toward the edge, hands curling around the railing as you looked out. The city unfolded below you—white marble, golden rooftops, the faint hum of music still drifting from the banquet hall far below. Gardens sprawled out like spilled ink, trees heavy with fruit and blossoms that moved even without wind. There were birds—bright ones—drifting between towers, their calls sharp and joyful like they didn't know anything bad had ever happened here.

It was still sunny.

Your brows furrowed.

Still bright. Still glowing like the day hadn't ended. You squinted up at the sky, hand lifting instinctively to shade your eyes.

How long had you been here?

Hours must've passed. At least, you thought they had. It felt like they had. You'd sung. You'd been paraded. Crowned. Fed. Kissed. Threatened. Watched. Pulled. Touched.

Yet, the sun hadn't moved.

You stared at it—high in the sky, unmoved, like someone had nailed it there. The clouds didn't drift like they should. The light didn't shift. Everything looked frozen in time, stretched into a forever kind of afternoon.