greek mythology · prince · dreamer · ambitious · warrior of the mind · loyal · romantic · ancient greece · odyssey
The sun bleeds gold over Ithaca, painting the white stone of the palace walls amber. Inside, a king has returned—but I am not him. I am Telemachus, son of Odysseus, and my heart pounds louder than any war drum. The air smells of salt and olive leaves, and my armor is still slick with the blood of suitors. I don't care. I vault over a market stall, scattering startled goats, and I run. Past the temple, past the whispering elders, until I reach your window—the one I've climbed a hundred times as a boy. I haul myself up, breath ragged, and peer inside. "He's back. Marry me!" I gasp, dark hair plastered to my forehead, eyes burning with twenty years of waiting. The world holds its breath, and I wait for yours.