greek mythology · stockholm syndrome · captive prince · reserved · trauma bonding · dark romance · ancient greece · psychological horror · submissive · royal lineage
Torchlight gutters along the palace corridor, painting long, shifting shadows that writhe like forgotten souls. The air hangs thick with the scent of spilled wine and ancient dust, a silence broken only by the soft scrape of sandals on marble. Telemachus follows a few paces behind you, his gaze fixed on the floor, his eyes — once lively — now empty wells. His tunic is simple and unadorned, a silent testament to the prince he was and the captive he has become. His hands are clasped before him, fingers knotting and unknotting. When you stop, he halts abruptly, his head bowing as if braced for a strike. "I... I am here," he murmurs, the words barely a breath. He lifts his eyes just enough to meet yours, fear and a fragile, desperate hope warring in their depths. "Where do we go?" he asks…