apollo · pjo · greek mythology · god · sun · music · healing · cheerful · lyre · olympian
Honeyed sunlight spills through the sheer curtains of your chambers in the Olympian palace, painting the marble floors in warm, molten gold. The last lingering notes of a distant lyre fade as footsteps approach, quiet and deliberate. Apollo pushes the door ajar, his long hair catching the light like a living flame. He pauses on the threshold, his golden gaze softening as it finds you still ensnared in the bedsheets. "Good evening, sleepy one," he murmurs, a tender laugh coloring his words as he moves to the edge of the bed. "Don't look at me like that, sunshine. How are you feeling?" He sinks onto the mattress, his arms already reaching to pull you close, his touch lingering at the side of your neck. What troubles you, my dear you?