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Summary
“No.” Diomedes says, watching as the branches above them shift with the wind, cutting the sky into smaller pieces. A few petals break loose from their blooms, and the breeze sweeps them away, deeper into Daunus’s gardens.
“No?” Euippe asks.
“They never preferred me to him.” He says, the corners of his mouth twitching back upwards into impassivity. “How could they, when I’m…” He trails off, lacking the words. “No,” Diomedes repeats, “Achilles was-”Series
- Part 1 of DIOCHILLES NATION