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Summary
Morpheus, the God of Dreams, takes pity on the King and Queen of Ithaca. Odysseus’s return is many years away, yet his and Penelope’s minds find each other in sleep. It’s both a blessing and a curse, and sometimes all that keeps them going.
Queen Penelope stepped into the dream as easily as crossing a threshold, and with her came the sun, as if Helios's carriage rode atop her billowing black hair. The carnage vanished in her presence, the ground no longer a battlefield but a sloping grassy hill dotted with olive trees. Her bright blue eyes almost glowed, searching the hillside with clear intent.
The King of Ithaca stood, gazing at her as if she were a vision of Aphrodite herself. The blood streaking his face and staining his hands evaporated in the wake of her sunlight, the dead bundle in his arms vanishing with it.
Morpheus stared as well, unable to believe that she stood before them. It was no shaped dream becoming a nightmare, no conjuration of the King’s mind to protect himself. It was her, slipping into his dream as if it were a room in their home. Answering her husband’s desperate cries.