perpetualdaydreamerr

[perpetualdaydreamerr]

Upon the Eternal Shore: An EPIC the Musical Fanfiction (Chapter 1)

Snippets of the 7 years Odysseus spent with Calypso.

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CONTENT WARNING: heavily implied r*pe, non-con, victim-blaming, emotional abuse, PTSD, descriptions of violence. Please consider before reading.

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Day 21

He swore he could feel her gaze even when she was feigning being asleep.

He wasn't sure why she did it. Whether it was some attempt to appear more mortal, or if it was just a guise to allow her to observe him alone. Regardless, he couldn't let his muscles relax, even when the eyes of the goddess were closed.

He stepped away from the bed. Shame burned like a torch in his chest. All that he had done haunted him, lingered on his body and mind like a virus he couldn't cleanse himself of. If he allowed himself to think too much about it, it would bring panic induced nausea that would take hours to dissolve. He'd found the best method for dealing with it was distracting himself. Propelling himself into the word of fantasy and memory, becoming intoxicated by the thoughts of what once was and what might be.

It had been 13 years since he'd left Ithaca. 13 years since he'd last touched the white sand shores that wrapped around his homeland like a silk garment. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the coast underneath his feet. His home was only a memory away. He tried to conjure up every detail he could possibly remember- the fig trees, the powdery smell of irises when one passed through the gardens of the palace, the pillowy bread sold in the streets of town-

It had only been 11 years since he left home. Somehow, time had warped before his very eyes. Though Calypso had made every day feel like an eternity, it had only really been a few of weeks.

An eternity.

Every day was the same. He was permitted to explore the impossibly lush island. It was covered in various fauna and flora, with a bizarre distinction. Nothing was in the least bit dangerous. The roses were stripped of their thorns, the stems left soft. None of the animals that lived ever muttered a growl or displayed their fangs. Even the wolves he encountered were either friendly or demure. It was all impossibly delicate.

She would follow him, of course. She never did leave. Sometimes, she'd linger further behind him, and he would try to convince himself he was alone. It never quite worked. He knew the lingering eyes of the goddess never left him.

He would hunt in the evenings. The animals were no challenge, and in some ways it felt cruel to slay creatures that didn't even try to run. He'd skin them and cook them over a homemade fire. That was usually when Calypso would begin to try and converse with him more extensively- when she could no longer repress her desire for conversation. Sometimes he entertained her, though that was rare. He'd merely tolerate the company and eat.

As the day drew closer to nightfall, the revulsion would begin to set in. His hands would begin to tremble as the clock ticked on. The anticipation was the worst part of it all. The sun would set, and she would lead him back to the white marble prison. His legs would move against his will, as if he were little more than a doll being manipulated around by a child. Together they'd go- Calypso whispering songs of praise and adoration as they drew closer, closer. Once inside, the door to the bedroom would melt away, as if never there in the first place. Her spell eliminated even the faintest hope of escape. Only a singular window sat on the opposite wall. He'd tried to break it with every conceivable item. His fists. His head. Nothing had ever dented it.

Today, and yesterday, and tomorrow were all the same.

Tonight he wouldn't try and break the window. He merely rose, and standing before it, tried to imagine Ithaca on the other side of the sea. Today, Penelope and Telemachus were taking a stroll along the beach. His raven-haired wife was discussing the politics of the local islands, trying to impart on their son the knowledge of statecraft that would ensure a prosperous future for their kingdom. Telemachus was keen to listen, already striving to be the best possible king.

Every time Odysseus envisioned his son, details changed. In some versions, he had the same ink-colored hair as Penelope, but Odysseus’ height and stature. In others, his face resembled his father’s, but he had the lean form of Penelope.

Penelope. She looked all the same. Older. Some silver strands dotted her head. She wore her hair a bit differently- high on her head, like his mother used to. But all the same, she still looked like his bride. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to envision her. He recalled her laugh. The way her hands moved on the loom, graceful as a dove.

Calypso's hands were graceful, too. Horribly so.

He felt his throat dry. Newer memories took the place of the old, and his eyes began to burn. He couldn't stop it. They consumed him like an avalanche, wicked, and vicious, and-

“I hate you. I hate you,” he whispered, feeling his lip twitch. He turned back towards her, his eyes grazing over her face, trying to identify signs of motion. She was just pretending to sleep. She was listening to him. He knew it. “I hate you, Calypso.”

She didn't move. In all of her stubbornness, she didn't budge.

He let out an aggravated breath, turning back towards the window. Hatred had been enough for the sirens, but he was becoming increasingly convinced it wouldn’t work here. That would be too easy. The gods could never make anything easy.

His eyes fixated on the waves. A hint of motion in them caught his gaze. He squinted, trying to make out what it was, before the air left his lungs.

It was a soldier, drowning. His blonde hair looked white in the bright moonlight. It was Leandros, a young soldier under his command. His face was contorted with panic as he fought desperately against the crashing tides.

“Captain, help me!” he cried, his arms rupturing through the water as he tried to overcome it.

Odysseus bashed his fist against the window, trying to break through it. He would rush to the coast and dive in- he'd save the young soldier. “Leandros!” he bellowed hoarsely, trying again to rupture the glass. “Wait, Leandros!”

A wave larger than the rest appeared from the depths of the horizon. It rushed forward, as merciless as a hydra, dark as night-

“Leandros!”

The wave toppled over, devouring the screaming soldier in a vicious gulp. As quickly as he'd appeared, he was gone, swallowed by the sea.

Odysseus screamed. A dry, helpless scream that rang in his ears. There wasn't anything he could do. They were all dead, all ravaged by the sea, or Zeus, or the club of the Cyclops-

“...My love?” came the slithering voice of a serpent. It cut through his thoughts, made him freeze.

Odysseus trembled. He forced his gaze away from the window. He looked back at her.

Calypso. Eyes open, staring at him.

“What's happened, dear? You're pale as snow,” she murmured. Her dark eyes traced him as she slinked out of bed.

“He's… dead,” Odysseus whispered, his voice trembling as he did. He gripped his hair with both fists. “They're all dead.”

“...But you and I are alive, darling. That's all that truly matters,” she ushered, her strides long and intentional. She put a hand to his shoulder, a poisonous look of concern on his face. “You don't have to allow the past to imprison you, my love.”

He looked back at her. He was now terribly dizzy. He needed to eat. He needed to sleep.

“You're safe here,” she continued, caressing his upper arm. “Perfectly safe.”

“I… I don't feel well,” he whispered in response. He searched the goddess's eyes for an answer. Some relief. “...Help me?”

She considered him for a second, eyes inquisitive. She stepped closer to him, allowing her side to graze his’. “Allow me to comfort you,” came her voice, gentle and persuasive as a siren. Her hand grasped onto his perizoma, colder than the most ruthless of waves.

Dread coursed through his body like a venom. He opened his mouth to respond to her, before he felt his tongue grow heavy as lead. He couldn't speak, couldn't object, and he couldn't determine if it was because of his own fear or yet another spell. Either way, he was entirely helpless to stop her.

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[perpetualdaydreamerr]

Odysseus: All the pain that I've been through, haven't I suffered enough?!

Fanfiction writers: Most definitely not