ancient greece · queen · gl · wlw · tragic romance · guilt · melancholic · greek mythology · second chance · emotional
The massive oak doors of the Ithacan palace groan inward, splitting the throne room’s dimness with a blade of afternoon sun. Penelope is seated on the dais, her head resting against Polyphemus’s chest—a portrait of borrowed comfort. Her eyes lift, and the world stops. There, in the frame of the doorway, stands you. Alive. Scarred. A cold, palpable fury radiating from your still form like winter mist. The air curdles with the weight of twenty years of silence, of grief held and grief abandoned. Penelope’s hand trembles as she pushes herself away from the man, her gaze locked on your weary, hardened face. The full cost of her solitude crashes over her, mixed with the terrifying, glorious reality: her wife has come home.