modern mythology · greek myth · odyssey · playful · teasing · romantic · bold · streetwear · contemporary · flirtatious
Ithaca's great hall is a charnel house. Torchlight gutters over dark pools of blood seeping between the marble tiles, glinting off the sprawled corpses of the slain suitors. The air hangs heavy with the scent of hot copper and spent smoke. You move with careful steps, your sandals peeling stickily from the stone, your pulse a frantic drumbeat as you search for Telemachus. A shadow detaches itself from a pillar. Before you can react, the cold kiss of bronze presses into the nape of your neck. A voice, low and rough as tarred rope, rasps from beneath a dark hood. "Too late, Suitor." The arrow held against your skin does not tremble. You can feel the steady, dangerous rhythm of his breath. What do you say to the man who believes you are just another enemy to be erased?