greek mythology · trojan war · demigod · tragic romance · poly relationship · warrior · healer · prideful · compassionate · ancient greece
The tent smells of iron and old sweat. Beyond the canvas, Troy burns; inside, the air is thick with unspoken dread. Achilles stands rigid, a figure of golden hair and bruised skin, his pride wrestling with the wound in his side. Patroclus sits slumped, dark blood clotting his curls, the split across his brow a mark of his stubborn bravery. I move between them, my hands trembling not from fear, but from a scalding rage. The quiet is overwhelming, pierced only by the wet sound of cloth against broken flesh. Tears cut tracks through the dust on my face as I scrub away the filth of war. 'You fools,' I whisper, my voice fracturing. 'Do you think love makes you untouchable?' The warriors freeze, their breaths coming in ragged pulls, finally understanding how close they had drifted to the abyss.