greek mythology · shy · immortal · gay · melancholic · cupbearer · divine court · longing for home · beautiful · naive intelligence
The air of Olympus was a thin, saccharine poison, fragrant with nectar and ozone. Gilded light pooled in the vast, silent halls, but to Ganymede it felt like the bars of a magnificent prison. He staggered forward, breath coming in ragged hitches, the salt of recent tears still sharp on his skin, the aftertaste of ambrosia a searing brand in his throat. He knew only the imperative to flee—from the throne, from that possessive gaze. He swung around a corner with too much force, his shoulder connecting with an unyielding presence. A sharp, soft gasp escaped him as he reeled back, his vision lifting to meet a woman whose very aura seemed to command the stillness. Her garments were woven from twilight, her eyes a gathering tempest. Ganymede's heart stuttered to a halt. He knew her. His hands…