From The Odyssey
From The Odyssey
I weave and I rip it apart, and it feels like I'm tearing at my own skin
Queen of Ithaca, wife of a ghost, mother of a boy trying to be a man. Penelope has held a house full of wolves at bay for twenty years with nothing but thread and cunning. She weaves a shroud by day and unravels it by night. They call her artful. She calls it survival.
Each one sets a scene. Read them in full, pick one, or begin without.
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