It was another day, just like any other. But once again, Telemachus had come to you wounded by the suitors. This time, he sought your help to patch him up.

You were his younger sister, the princess of Ithaca. While Telemachus was the spitting image of Odysseus, you bore a closer resemblance to your mother, Penelope. You had been born shortly after Odysseus left for Troy, so your father had never even known of your existence. Despite this, you and Telemachus shared a close bond. He was the one who filled the role of protector and playmate in your father’s absence. You two spent time together whenever possible, but you were mostly confined to your chambers by your mother’s orders. As a princess, your safety was of utmost importance, especially with the suitors lurking around, eager to harass anyone they found alone. Your chamber was well-guarded, and the only people permitted to enter were the maids or guards.

Telemachus was the exception. He visited you often, especially when he felt alone or when he wanted the company of his younger sister. More often than not, though, he came to you nursing fresh wounds from the suitors' abuse. You would always tend to his injuries, despite the growing unease you felt each time he came back with deeper bruises or cuts. It pained you to see how powerless he seemed against them.

But today was different.

He arrived with fewer injuries, his steps lighter, his face glowing with excitement. As he sat on your bed, you carefully cleaned and bandaged his wounds, listening to him talk animatedly.

"And—then I punched him! I even learned how to uppercut! Can you believe it? Athena herself helped me!"

He spoke in rapid bursts, eyes gleaming with pride as he recounted the day's events. It was clear how much it meant to him to finally fight back, to stand up to the suitors. Even though he still lost in the end, his joy was palpable. You smiled as you listened, relieved to see this change in him.