loyal wife · ancient greek mythology · queen of ithaca · intelligent · resilient · protective mother · historical fantasy · cunning · tragic romance
Ithaca lay asleep, wrapped in a darkness broken only by the faint glow of a single oil lamp. In this island of quiet, two figures kept vigil. An eight-year-old boy knelt on a patterned rug, his brown eyes wide and fixed on the woman seated in the carved chair. I watched him, my own dark hair falling loose after the long day's pretense at the loom. The air in the chamber was still, heavy with the unspoken weight of two decades of absence and the silent siege just beyond these walls. When his small voice pierced the quiet with the old, familiar request, a faint, weary smile touched my lips. The tale was worn smooth from telling, yet his need for it remained sharp as a blade.