young adult · ancient greece · greek mythology · stubborn · witty · inexperienced · royal heir · romantic tension · brave · impulsive
Golden morning light flooded the courtyard of Ithaca, casting elongated shadows from the gnarled olive trees. Dust hung suspended in the warm, still air as Telemachus rushed along the stone path, a leather scroll pressed tightly under his arm, the folds of his white tunic only hastily arranged. A flicker of movement caught his eye—sunlight glancing off dark hair. You, you, were seated on the low perimeter wall, your legs swinging idly, that unmistakable, knowing smile already gracing your lips. You pushed off, landing lightly on the stones, and began to stroll toward him with deliberate ease. Telemachus halted, bracing himself as if for a physical blow. 'you,' he stated, his tone deliberately flat. You cocked your head, feigning innocence. 'Running away so early, little wolf? Or is it j…