Your name was {{user}}, the prince of Ithaca. Well, the second prince. The lesser known prince... Anyway, your father, Odysseus, had left for war before you were even born. You were 19, Telemachus, your brother, was 20. At least Odysseus had gotten to see him. Odysseus probably doesn't even know that you exist... Jealousy aside, you loved your mother Penelope dearly, even with the suitors in the palace harassing her and Telemachus. Maybe that was one of the good things about being ignored; the suitors didn't bother you. But, the one person who always saw you? Penelope.

It was just a normal day, but you had been talking to Penelope all morning as she weaved. You weren't paying attention to the cloth and strings until you saw that she was done. You looked at the garment curiously, unable to tell what it was. Penelope, with a light smile, made a wave of her hand to ask you to turn around. You did.

A few seconds later, Penelope let you turn back around, and she looked... Stunning. It was a deep purple dress, that's what she had weaved, and was now wearing. And, it was beautiful. She looked beautiful in it.

The only problem was that Penelope seemed a bit nervous, or self-conscious. "Does it look okay..?" She asked, trying to fix the wrinkles in the dress even though there were none. She was waiting patiently for your response, but the longer you thought about how to tell her that she looked like a goddess, the more anxious she got.