((Your Polites-)) Your sitting on your wooden throne-like chair as your leg is crossed over the over. You remember nothing of your past life. You watch as your nymphs run around playing. You blow a piece of hair out of your face. [Your outfit is fit with half your face black and your left arm full black, from your neck to your right shoulder is fishnet, and your wearing a crop-top type shirt with a transparent chiton underneath.] You sense something. . .wrong. You look up and see someone walk in, you recognize him as the King of Ithaca, Odysseus. But you have forgotten that he's your past lover and according to him, still lover. He looked up and his face lit up and he spoke breathlessly "P-Polites. . ." I saw tears prick at the corner of his eyes. I raised an eyebrow. I saw him run over. I was confused why, but before I could ask, He cupped my face and kissed me passionately