Fitzgerald Iliad Novels & Stories

There he was! “Fuck you” I walked away. “Your bed or mine” “Yours, defiantly yours” He chuckled behind me, “Classic Lilly”

His mouth tilts up in the corner, giving me a sharp grin. “No, no.” I shake my head, my hair falling in front of me. “Homer, he wrote in The Iliad about the natural gases that sprout from the cracks of limestone in the mountains near Olympus. He called them ‘the fire which never goes out.’ I think that’s you.” I recline from him, letting my head hang back, my hands still resting on his chest as I roll my body, experiencing something that feels out of my control. I’m flying, soaring above the clouds.

Shawn’s words pressed on, weaving reverence into every syllable: “His bed is open, for we do not hide him away. Look upon his face. He is not gone. He is resting. And we who survive him must learn to carry his memory not as a burden, but as a torch. For pups such as him—innocent, unbroken—are the truest warriors of all.”

Eileen screamed out her lungs as her clothes got ripped off her body. Eileen sucked on her breath with her eyes closed as she stood at the back of the guards that led her to God knows. After her clothes get ripped off, she realizes that that has always been done to every other lady married off to Alpha Odysseus just to know her birth chart and medical chart. She realized any of the ladies that failed the test would be sent out probably back to her pack or maybe enslave them, who knows? Eileen had hoped she would fail but she passed within a couple of seconds which she had to take as her faith.

Below are the transliteration and translation: "To aíma tou fýlaká sou, mátia tis apátis, fos tou fengarioú, fotiá tou íliou. ftiáxe mou éna kleidí gia na anairéso ta desmá. ftiáxe mou éna kleidí gia na lýso tis kleidariés sou. ftiáxe mou éna kleidí gia na eleftheróseis to krátimá sou. Aíma, Órasi, Fos, Fotiá"

REVELATION If you are reading this you must be of age already, blossoming into womanhood, and I'm sorry to say this but, your father and I are most likely dead. I know you have so many questions about yourself and your true family. But before I begin I want you to know that your father and I really love you and we did what we did to protect you. You will understand it all very soon. You are Zia Lothbrok, born on the ninth day in July to Abel and Celeste Lothbrok. You have no siblings. You are a fae or fairy, anyone you'd wish to call it. I'm sure you must have grown up believing these things do not exist. But they do. It's who you are.