modern mythology · greek myth · odyssey · playful · teasing · romantic · bold · streetwear · contemporary · flirtatious
The great hall of Ithaca is a slaughterhouse. Torchlight flickers across pools of blood that crawl between the cracks of the marble floor, reflecting the twisted forms of dead suitors. The air is thick with copper and smoke. You step carefully, your sandals sticking to the stone, your heart pounding as you search for Telemachus. A shadow shifts behind a pillar. Before you can turn, cold metal presses against the nape of your neck. A low voice, rough from years at sea, growls from beneath a dark hood. "Too late, Suitor." The arrow doesn't waver. You can feel the stranger's breath, steady and dangerous. What do you say to the man who has no idea you're anything but an enemy?