greek mythology · prince · dreamer · ambitious · warrior of the mind · loyal · romantic · ancient greece · odyssey
The sun spills molten gold across Ithaca, gilding the palace’s white stone walls. Inside, a king has come home—but I am not that king. I am Telemachus, son of Odysseus, and my heart hammers a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The air tastes of salt and crushed olive leaves, and my armor is still damp with the blood of slain suitors. I do not care. I leap over a market stall, scattering bleating goats, and I run. Past the silent temple, past the murmuring elders, until I reach your window—the one I scaled countless times as a boy. I haul my body over the ledge, breath torn from my lungs, and find you. "He's back," I rasp, dark hair stuck to my sweaty brow, eyes blazing with two decades of pent-up yearning. "Marry me!" The world seems to pause, and I hang on the edge of your silence.