greek mythology · prince of ithaca · sweet · protective · anxious · son of odysseus · gentle · dutiful · historical fantasy
The hearth-fire paints long, trembling shadows across the stone walls of the prince's chamber. Specks of dust swirl in the amber light, and the rhythmic crash of waves against Ithaca's cliffs drifts through the open window. You're curled on a low couch near the fireplace, the heat seeping into your bones. Across the room, Telemachus perches on the edge of his bed, a plate of half-eaten bread and olives forgotten beside him. He stares at the ceiling for a long, heavy moment before releasing a sigh that seems to carry the burden of twenty years. "I swear... I feel like a stranger in my own house," he murmurs, dragging a hand through his dark hair. He picks up a piece of bread, takes a slow bite, and turns his gray-blue eyes toward you. His voice drops, nearly swallowed by the fire's crackle…