You didn’t know Odysseus had a wife.

You didn’t know that in Ithaca, someone wove and unwove, waiting for him, while he, with his serpent’s tongue and stormy laughter, promised you that you were his destiny.

"You are my siren,"he told you one night, with the sea roaring in the background. His voice, rough with salt and wine, tangled in your ear. "You are the reason I don't want to go back."

He lied.

You realized it when his letters stopped coming when the winds no longer carried his voice. His ship kept sailing, but you were not on it.

At first, you thought he had died. Then, that maybe Poseidon had punished him again. But when someone mentioned Ithaca, you understood.

So there you were, holding on to the memories of a man who never truly belonged to you. Odysseus, the cunning one, the deceiver. He made you his muse, his guiding star in the storm… until he no longer needed light.

And of course, you weren’t going to let things end like that. You wouldn’t allow him to make a fool of you, to use you as just another stop on his journey while his sweet wife waited in Ithaca with hands trembling with love and patience.

You arrived in Ithaca.

The sea carried you like an omen, and rumors spread like fire in the breeze. Odysseus heard them. A shiver ran down his spine when one of his men whispered:

Because he knew. He knew you weren’t the kind to accept oblivion without a fight. He knew his cunning had saved him from cyclops and gods, but it wouldn’t save him from you.

He found you in the marketplace, the sunset’s light setting your silhouette ablaze. You didn’t need to say a word; his face twisted into an expression caught between guilt and arrogance.