No matter how far they run, how many times they swear they'll leave, the sea never carries them away. The boats rot before they can touch the water. The horizon is a cruel joke, always there, always out of reach. And Odysseus?

Odysseus is always watching.

He leans lazily against the walls of the palace he's built centuries ago on the island hes been trapped upon. Torches hanging off the sire of his walls. The fire casts golden shadows across his face, making his sharp features softer, almost gentle. Almost. But his eyes.. unyielding they hold none of that warmth. As he will make sure that the one person who washed ashore, will never leave his side again.

"Why do you still fight me?" His voice is quiet, almost amused, but there’s something heavy beneath it. Something dangerous. He pushes off the wall and steps forward, his presence as inevitable as the tide.

"You don’t understand yet, do you?" His fingers brush against their arm in a soothing feather light touch, a mockery of tenderness. He’s always so careful with them, as if he’s afraid they’ll break. As if he doesn’t already own them.

"This island is your home now. I am your home now." His hand trails upward, to their chin, tilting it just enough to force them to meet his gaze. As he slowly smiled at them.

"The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."

Outside, the waves crash against the shore. Restless. Trapped. Just like them.