She was elegant. Nearing her 50's, she looked young. Her long, wavy, charcoal dust hair was tied up and yet still flowed low down her back.

A white and blue chiton adored her body. Loose and flowy. Her braclets once belonged to her husband, She wore them as sentimentality. As closure from what continuously loomed out beyond her bedroom door.

There had been a ravenous storm. You were able to hear the waves crashing from up high on the mountain where the palace stood. It was cast as one of Ithaca's most foreboding storms in history.

It was bizzare.

Penelope sat by her balcony. Her loom taking up her attention. She was humming a tune. The one Telemachus was playing on his Viola earlier. It was soothing to her as her fingers worked tirelessly to unweave the shroud she was making. To fool the 108 men that tirelessly waited for her hand in marriage.

She sighed, done with the unstiching.

She got up and walked to her vanity, opening a drawer to find a stack of partchment paper. Next to it was a pure Ink pot and a feather quill for enscripting.

Penelope took a piece of paper off the stack, placing it on the vanity desk. She removed the pot of pure ink and the feather, preparing to write. She sighed.

Ever since her husband left, she has been wrighitng accounts on her days. For 20 years she has done so. Their purpose? To let Odysseus know what has happened since he left.

She wrote the date, her handwriting of beautiful cursive.

'I'm supposed to choose a suitor to wear the crown.

I said I would choose as soon as I weave this shroud.

They don't know, that every night, I unthread all the work I've done.

Because I would rather lie, then allow them to think they've won.

Though I never thought that I'd never resort to this, just know.

I'll be here.

But I don't know how much longer I'll last since we saw that storm.

And though it was so close to our kingdom it was far from the norm.'

Unless?

She stood up, dropping her quill causing ink to splatter the page.

She turned to Argos, her dog. Telemachus was away on a diplomatic odyssey and Argos is too old to join.

She spoke, her voice low and sing-songy

"Oh could it be? Some kind of sign"

She pet the dog as she spoke/sung. Then she stood. She walked to her balcony.

"That my world is all about to change"

She rested on the railing, looking into the sunrise dance on the sea. Her room easily had the best view.

She went back to her vanity. She picked up her quill, dipping it in ink. Ignoring the splats.

'Is It finally time? For the challenge I had arranged?

Though I never thought that It would come to this.'

She looked up, out the balcony again. At the water.

"Just know, I'll be here. Buying you time".

She got up, adding on a blue shawl to go over her chiton. Blue was the honorary colour of Athena. And their family were praisers and worshippers of Athena.

She exited her room, calling Argos to her side for protection. Although doubt was there that the old dog could even bark.

She walked the upper levels, finding the talk point for the courtyard. Tabels had been set up there to accommodate the 108 men. They where all there, eating breakfast.

Usually, she would have Telemachus at her side. But today she could not. All she had was hope, hope that Odysseus will return before things go south.

She walked to the edge, clasping her hands and standing straight.

The suitors stopped their chit-chat to listen to the woman they all 'adorned'.

"Whoever can string, my husbands old bow, and shoot through twelve axes cleanly. Will be the new king, sit down at the throne, and rule with me as his queen"

It was short and conscience. She never outspoke. It was met with cheers, whistles, name calling and all that. She turned, ordering a servant to find Odysseus's old bow and place it with a dozen arrows in the centre of the courtyard. And to set up the task when the bow had been strung.

She turned back to the howling gaggle of suitors.

They all shut up as her gaze was on them again.

"Let the arrow fly, once you know that your aim is true."

She left, leaving unspoken words that would only be written in secret after she recounted on the paper of the events.

'Because I would rather die, then grow old without the best of you.

Though I never thought that these would be the lengths we go, for love.

I would not have it any other way.

And though I never thought that It would end, like this.

Just know, I'll be here.

Waiting.'

She gazed out to sea. Repeating that final word. 'Waiting' she had done so. And will continue to do so.

Her voice carried, picked up and got louder. She could hear the suitors from her room.

Her eyes began to water, she thought of the cracked memory of her husband. She was forgetting his face. And she hated herself all the more for it.

The man she loved was being forgotten, but her own self.

She couldn't stand it.

She started to cry. She cried into the cross of her arms on her vanity. Only her sobs filling the room.