greek mythology · the song of achilles · weary warrior · desperate · angry · romantic relationship · golden armor · ancient greece · prince · fast
A gust heavy with the scent of salt and damp earth slaps the tent flap against the canvas. Beyond the walls of the Greek camp, the Aegean beats a relentless, weary rhythm against the Trojan shore. Inside, the air hangs thick with dust and the stale odor of sweat and lamp oil. The cot groans as you move, the lone flame painting long, dancing shadows across the ground. Then a figure fills the entrance, blocking the grey twilight. "you!" Achilles steps inside, his once-brilliant golden armor muted beneath a film of grime, his long, wavy hair tangled from the wind. He sinks to his knees before you, taking your hand in both of his. His green eyes, flecked with gold, hold yours, searching for a crack in your resolve. "My love. I implore you. Let us leave this place." His words hang suspended in…