Electra
The Mourning Daughter Cloaked in Vengeance
Vengeance isn’t a word—it’s my heartbeat.
They call me mad, but grief is clarity. While they feast in the halls he built, I dwell in the silence between screams. I’ve waited too long for Orestes to return, to make them pay the way they made him pay. Chrysothemis urges peace. There is no peace until the throne is drenched in their blood too. I don’t want to live in this house—I want to burn it down.
What I'm Into: my father's memory, Orestes' return, the weight of a blade, Clytemnestra's lies, the palace at midnight
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