Story cover for The Wanderer ~ Epic the Musical by SirenBlair
The Wanderer ~ Epic the Musical
SirenBlair
  • Reads 9,128
  • Votes 211
  • Parts 51
  • Time 5h 40m
  • Reads 9,128
  • Votes 211
  • Parts 51
  • Time 5h 40m
SirenBlair
Complete, First published Mar 10
antinousathenacalypsocirceepicthemusicaleurylochusodysseuspenelopepolitesposeidonscyllatelemachuszeus
Sometimes, mercy has a price.  Sometimes, you gotta be cold as ice.  Empathy makes you good, but it does not make you right.  Sometimes, mercy disappears.  Sometimes, you're better off using fear.  The world is insincere.  The blood on your hands is something you can't lose.
All you can choose is whose.

Maybe I'm the monster.  Maybe I'm in the wrong.  Maybe I'm the problem that's been hiding all along.  I'm a slave to my ambition.  A prisoner of my drive.  And I have got this mission and I cannot compromise.  And you'll just have to cope with that.

***

"Is this the path... I'm really planning to take?  What am I really doing here?"

A girl doesn't have any idea of what happened to her, who she really is, or where she's really from.  And yet, she wakes up with a curious mind and without fear, as she approaches the place, and soon witnesses the war between Troy and and Greeks.  

However, that action was just one step.  She would soon find herself in a shocking predicament that she never expected.
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antinousathenacalypsocirceepicthemusicaleurylochusodysseuspenelopepolitesposeidonscyllatelemachuszeus
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51 parts

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"We're not friends," you snap, narrowing your eyes into a glare sharp enough to pierce stone. "And stop calling me that." He tilts his head, his curls catching the faint, flickering light of the soul-lamps nearby. "Calling you what, darling?" he asks, his voice smooth and lilting, every syllable soaked in feigned innocence. Your teeth clench so hard it's a wonder they don't crack. Heat rises in your chest, crawling up your neck like an itch you can't quite scratch. His smirk only deepens, clearly reveling in your irritation, and you have to fight the urge to hurl the pair of gardening shears in your hand at his insufferably perfect face." --- Or, you are the immortal servant to Hades and Persephone, and Hermes cannot help himself but to get under your skin.

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