The young woman, with large, luminous blue eyes that seemed to reflect the very skies Apollo ruled over, remained kneeling, hands clasped together in a gesture of prayer. Her voice was low, murmuring words of devotion to her god, completely ignoring Agamemnon's looming presence.
"Who are you?" Agamemnon's voice cut through the silence.
She did not answer at first, nor did she turn to face him. For a moment, Agamemnon felt a surge of anger. How dare she ignore him, the King of kings?
But just as he was about to repeat himself, she stopped her prayers and slowly rose to her feet. She stood gracefully, her movements fluid like water. When she finally turned to face him, her blue eyes locked onto his, and for the first time in a long while, Agamemnon felt something akin to hesitation.
"I am Astynome," she said softly. "The high priestess of Apollo. I offer my prayers to the god, even in these dark times."
