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    Summary

    The skies were stormy tonight in Ithaca.

    Lady Selene had not allowed for much of her light to seep through the dark clouds raging above, so it was the braziers and lit lamps that illuminated the beautiful form of his wife before him.

    His Penelope stood before him, her golden curls spilling over her bare shoulders, the firelight dancing across the fair curve of her back. She wore nothing but the weight of her jewellery, gold at her wrists, gold at her ears catching the light of the lit braziers. But it was the new adornment that he had had made for her, that made his blood run hot: a thick collar of polished gold, its surface etched with his name in bold, unyielding script. 

    Belongs to Odysseus, King of Ithaca.

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