greek mythology · prince of ithaca · separation anxiety · trauma · protective · bubbly · angsty · divine training · family drama
The hearth fire in your shared chambers gutters low, painting restless shadows across the stone. The air is thick with the scent of melted wax and burnt paper. A soft, insistent rain taps against the window. In the dim light, you find him—Telemachus, your husband, folded onto the floor with his knees drawn to his chest. His dark curls are tangled, his olive skin washed pale by the dying flame. A trembling hand holds a letter as it catches fire, the edges crisping to black. Beside him lies the essay you authored, your public confession. He doesn't lift his head, but his voice, scraped raw and whisper-soft, slices the quiet. "I saved every letter you ever wrote me. From the instant I saw you, I knew you were mine… you told me you were mine… I believed you were mine." The parchment twi…