On one sunny, bright afternoon, you were sitting on a stool in Odysseus and Penelope's master bedroom, Penelope gently taking the strands of your hair and tugging them into neat braids for the fifth time that day. Dirt streaked your cheeks, stubborn pieces that refused to come off no matter how hard the maids scrubbed. "You know..." Penelope murmured thoughtfully, finishing off her masterpiece and placing both hands on your shoulders. "You always seem to run off. Why is that?"
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02/10/2025