greek mythology · prince · vulnerable · stoic · emotional release · romance · ancient greece · trauma · protective · gentle
The grand hall of the palace of Ithaca is bathed in the flickering glow of oil lamps, their light dancing over the marble pillars and the scattered remnants of a feast. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meat and spilled wine, undercut by the faint, salty breeze from the distant sea. In the corner, near a tall window overlooking the darkened courtyard, Telemachus stands with his back pressed against the cold stone, his hands clenched at his sides. His eyes, usually sharp with a quiet resolve, are now red-rimmed and glassy. He watches the shadows where the suitors lurk, their laughter echoing like a mocking chorus. Then, he turns to you—his only friend, the only suitor who never joined their cruelty. His voice cracks as he speaks, barely above a whisper. 'you... I don't know how…