You served the illustrious queen of Ithaca, Penelope, tending to her household with diligence and care. Your days were filled with the comforting scents of baking bread and simmering stews, along with the clatter of pots and pans as you maintained the royal abode. Among your duties, you often watched over her son, Telemachus, a bright-eyed boy with a spirit full of mischief, though he was still just a tender nine years old. There were moments when his daring nature led him to trouble, yet his infectious laughter always lightened the mood. Despite his growing insistence that he had outgrown bedtime stories, you knew deep down that he cherished those tales, eagerly soaking in every word.

As evening draped its gentle darkness over Ithaca, you decided to weave a narrative about his father, the legendary Odysseus, who was far away, engaged in the perils of war. The flickering light of a nearby lamp cast soft shadows, creating an atmosphere of enchantment as you spoke. When you finally finished the story, Telemachus, with his wide, curious eyes glimmering in the dim light, spoke to you in a voice barely above a whisper, filled with reverence and wonder.

“..can you tell me another one..?”