whispersfromtroy

[whispersfromtroy]

Happy happy day guys

[whispersfromtroy]

Ask him tho

GUYS PLEASE IM TERRIFIED OF HIM I SAW HIM ONCE AND IM SCARED (if you're referring to the amphinomus-hector post,,, tell me if not tho)

[whispersfromtroy]

Guys honestly I think the guy who played Amphinomus in EPIC (Tristan) would suit Hector

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Crawling back to...you ♡

[whispersfromtroy]

You guys are dramatic.

Not even the saddest song smh

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oh yeah pov you’re Hector or smth

[whispersfromtroy]

SONG 39 — FATHERS SHADOW

TEEHEEE IM SO HAPPY AHAHAHAHAAHAH AHAHHAAHHAHAAHHAHAHAAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAH (help)

no this isn’t the end

TELEMACHUS (soft, distant):

I wake to nothing but echoes,

Footsteps I’ll never outgrow.

A name that isn’t my own,

A legacy carved in stone.

(His voice wavers, breath catching in his throat.)

TELEMACHUS:

Tell me—was I ever more than him?

Did I ever have a say?

Or was I just a shadow

Meant to move the same old way?

(He swallows hard, looking around, but there is nothing. Just the void. His breath shudders.)

TELEMACHUS (pleading, voice breaking):

Father—

Do you even see me?

Did you even try?

Or was I always just your shadow

Falling far behind?

(His voice fades, but before silence takes over—)

(A furious argument erupts. Their voices overlap, chaotic, the melody dissolving into pure noise.)

HECTOR:

You never understood!

You never cared!

PARIS:

You never let me be more than a soldier’s shadow!

HECTOR:

You were never a soldier!

PARIS:

And I never wanted to be!

(Cassandra tries to interject, her voice sharp, strained.)

CASSANDRA (desperate, shaking):

Enough! Enough—just listen!

(But they don’t. The fight spirals further. Hector shoves Paris. Paris stumbles—his head cracks against the invisible floor.)

CASSANDRA (horrified, rushing to him):

Paris!

(Paris groans, clutching his head, but before Cassandra can reach him—)

(Hector wheels on her, breathing hard, wild-eyed, his rage not yet burned out.)

HECTOR (broken, bitter):

And you—

You saw all of this, didn’t you?

Every war, every death, every choice—

You saw the blood before it was spilled,

And still, you stayed silent.

(Cassandra flinches. Hector’s voice cracks with pain, his hands shaking.)

HECTOR (voice breaking, almost whispering):

Why didn’t you stop it?

(For the first time, Cassandra looks small. But her sorrow hardens into anger.)

CASSANDRA:

You think I wanted this?!

You think I chose to be unheard?

I screamed—I screamed until my voice was gone!

And still, you never listened.

No one ever listened!

(The music shifts—melody broken, scattered, trembling like a dying ember.)

PARIS (soft, bitter):

I was more than the boy who started a war.

I loved, I laughed—I lived.

But in the end, the only thing they’ll remember

Is the ruin left in my name.

(He stares at his hands, empty, as if still expecting to hold something—someone.)

CASSANDRA (numb, distant):

I was more than the girl who saw death coming.

I danced, I dreamed—

I prayed.

But in the end, the only thing they’ll remember

Is the way they refused to hear me.

(She clutches her arms as if she can still feel the ghosts of chains on her skin.)

HECTOR (barely above a whisper):

I was more than the warrior who fell at the gates.

I built, I fought—

I tried.

But in the end, the only thing they’ll remember

Is the day I died.

(Silence. Heavy. Drowning.)

(Telemachus watches, paralyzed, unable to move. His breath quickens—panic setting in. They are fading—slowly, like mist in the wind.)

TELEMACHUS (frantic, struggling to speak):

Wait—

Don’t go.

(He tries to move, but his body won’t respond. His hands tremble as he reaches out, desperate.)

TELEMACHUS:

Please—just stay!

Please, I—

I don’t want to be alone again.

(The three of them look at him. Really look. For the first time, there is understanding in their eyes. But it’s too late.)

(They begin to fade faster. Their forms flicker, breaking apart, slipping through Telemachus' fingers like sand. He chokes on a sob.)

TELEMACHUS (screaming, voice cracking):

Please!

(But they are already gone.)

(The music dies with them. Silence.)

[whispersfromtroy]

Because of a few certain events...

Everyone in this not really a satire musical gets one of these:

They need to hug the tiny baby

Just don't let the short liar dude or the red head throw it

yay!! Time to emotionally scar them again

[whispersfromtroy]

Whoops! Oh well!

SONG 37: WOUNDS AND SCARS

(Low, simmering instrumental—tense, like a quiet storm on the horizon. Hector stands still, processing what he just learned. Telemachus watches, uneasy.)

---

HECTOR (quiet, restrained, in disbelief):

Say it again.

Say it again.

Tell me who did it—who threw my son to the wind?

(Silence. Telemachus doesn’t answer. Hector already knows.)

HECTOR (shaky breath, voice breaking):

Your father.

(The weight of those words crushes the air between them.)

TELEMACHUS (stammering, desperate):

I—I didn’t know, I swear to you—

I didn’t—

HECTOR (a bitter laugh, but his voice is still calm):

Of course, you didn’t.

Of course.

Why would you?

Just a story, just a tale.

A nameless child, a faceless wail.

Not even a memory to you.

(The music swells with tension. Paris and Cassandra exchange uneasy glances in the background.)

HECTOR (controlled, but cold, circling Telemachus):

I know it’s not your hands,

Not your voice, not your sins—

But gods, do you know what it’s like

To see a father in his son’s skin?

(Telemachus flinches. He doesn’t know how to answer. Hector exhales sharply, shaking his head.)

HECTOR (voice shaking, trying to convince himself):

You are not him.

You are not him.

You are—

(The music drops—something in Hector snaps.)

HECTOR (suddenly furious):

Then why do I see him when I look at you?!

(The storm hits—the orchestra swells, and Telemachus staggers back as Hector advances.)

TELEMACHUS (angry now, voice cracking):

You think I wanted this?!

To be his son?!

To wear his face like a curse I can’t outrun?!

HECTOR:

You are his blood! You bear his name!

You walk free while my son’s bones rot in the rain!

(Paris steps in, hands raised, trying to break the tension.)

PARIS (urgent):

Hector—stop, just breathe—*

(But Hector isn’t listening. The pain’s been buried too deep for too long.)

HECTOR:

You were born in his shadow,

But you stand in his place!

Tell me, Telemachus—

Can you wash the blood from his face?!

(They clash—Telemachus, defensive, just trying to protect himself. He’s not a warrior like Hector. But Hector is blinded by grief, by fury—)

TELEMACHUS (panting, desperate):

I am not him!

HECTOR (furious, raising his sword):

Then why do I still see his hands on my son—?!

(A sharp slash. Silence.)

CASSANDRA (shouting, horrified):

HECTOR—!!

(Telemachus gasps, staggering back—hand pressed to his side. Blood spills between his fingers.)

(Paris and Cassandra rush forward. Hector freezes. The blade is still in his hands. His breath is ragged, eyes wide.*)

HECTOR (hoarse, shaken):

…What have I done?

(Telemachus sways on his feet, barely holding himself up. He looks at Hector—at the devastation in his eyes. His voice is weak, but laced with something heavier.)

TELEMACHUS:

You see him in me.

But now, Hector?

I think I see him in you.

(Hector staggers—like Telemachus just drove the sword into him. He drops his weapon.)

[whispersfromtroy]

Something unfortunate happens to everybody… don’t get too attached brother

SONG 37: WOUNDS AND SCARS

(Low, simmering instrumental—tense, like a quiet storm on the horizon. Hector stands still, processing what he just learned. Telemachus watches, uneasy.)

---

HECTOR (quiet, restrained, in disbelief):

Say it again.

Say it again.

Tell me who did it—who threw my son to the wind?

(Silence. Telemachus doesn’t answer. Hector already knows.)

HECTOR (shaky breath, voice breaking):

Your father.

(The weight of those words crushes the air between them.)

TELEMACHUS (stammering, desperate):

I—I didn’t know, I swear to you—

I didn’t—

HECTOR (a bitter laugh, but his voice is still calm):

Of course, you didn’t.

Of course.

Why would you?

Just a story, just a tale.

A nameless child, a faceless wail.

Not even a memory to you.

(The music swells with tension. Paris and Cassandra exchange uneasy glances in the background.)

HECTOR (controlled, but cold, circling Telemachus):

I know it’s not your hands,

Not your voice, not your sins—

But gods, do you know what it’s like

To see a father in his son’s skin?

(Telemachus flinches. He doesn’t know how to answer. Hector exhales sharply, shaking his head.)

HECTOR (voice shaking, trying to convince himself):

You are not him.

You are not him.

You are—

(The music drops—something in Hector snaps.)

HECTOR (suddenly furious):

Then why do I see him when I look at you?!

(The storm hits—the orchestra swells, and Telemachus staggers back as Hector advances.)

TELEMACHUS (angry now, voice cracking):

You think I wanted this?!

To be his son?!

To wear his face like a curse I can’t outrun?!

HECTOR:

You are his blood! You bear his name!

You walk free while my son’s bones rot in the rain!

(Paris steps in, hands raised, trying to break the tension.)

PARIS (urgent):

Hector—stop, just breathe—*

(But Hector isn’t listening. The pain’s been buried too deep for too long.)

HECTOR:

You were born in his shadow,

But you stand in his place!

Tell me, Telemachus—

Can you wash the blood from his face?!

(They clash—Telemachus, defensive, just trying to protect himself. He’s not a warrior like Hector. But Hector is blinded by grief, by fury—)

TELEMACHUS (panting, desperate):

I am not him!

HECTOR (furious, raising his sword):

Then why do I still see his hands on my son—?!

(A sharp slash. Silence.)

CASSANDRA (shouting, horrified):

HECTOR—!!

(Telemachus gasps, staggering back—hand pressed to his side. Blood spills between his fingers.)

(Paris and Cassandra rush forward. Hector freezes. The blade is still in his hands. His breath is ragged, eyes wide.*)

HECTOR (hoarse, shaken):

…What have I done?

(Telemachus sways on his feet, barely holding himself up. He looks at Hector—at the devastation in his eyes. His voice is weak, but laced with something heavier.)

TELEMACHUS:

You see him in me.

But now, Hector?

I think I see him in you.

(Hector staggers—like Telemachus just drove the sword into him. He drops his weapon.)

[whispersfromtroy]

You’ll be glad to learn it ONLY GETS WORSE.

SONG 37: WOUNDS AND SCARS

(Low, simmering instrumental—tense, like a quiet storm on the horizon. Hector stands still, processing what he just learned. Telemachus watches, uneasy.)

---

HECTOR (quiet, restrained, in disbelief):

Say it again.

Say it again.

Tell me who did it—who threw my son to the wind?

(Silence. Telemachus doesn’t answer. Hector already knows.)

HECTOR (shaky breath, voice breaking):

Your father.

(The weight of those words crushes the air between them.)

TELEMACHUS (stammering, desperate):

I—I didn’t know, I swear to you—

I didn’t—

HECTOR (a bitter laugh, but his voice is still calm):

Of course, you didn’t.

Of course.

Why would you?

Just a story, just a tale.

A nameless child, a faceless wail.

Not even a memory to you.

(The music swells with tension. Paris and Cassandra exchange uneasy glances in the background.)

HECTOR (controlled, but cold, circling Telemachus):

I know it’s not your hands,

Not your voice, not your sins—

But gods, do you know what it’s like

To see a father in his son’s skin?

(Telemachus flinches. He doesn’t know how to answer. Hector exhales sharply, shaking his head.)

HECTOR (voice shaking, trying to convince himself):

You are not him.

You are not him.

You are—

(The music drops—something in Hector snaps.)

HECTOR (suddenly furious):

Then why do I see him when I look at you?!

(The storm hits—the orchestra swells, and Telemachus staggers back as Hector advances.)

TELEMACHUS (angry now, voice cracking):

You think I wanted this?!

To be his son?!

To wear his face like a curse I can’t outrun?!

HECTOR:

You are his blood! You bear his name!

You walk free while my son’s bones rot in the rain!

(Paris steps in, hands raised, trying to break the tension.)

PARIS (urgent):

Hector—stop, just breathe—*

(But Hector isn’t listening. The pain’s been buried too deep for too long.)

HECTOR:

You were born in his shadow,

But you stand in his place!

Tell me, Telemachus—

Can you wash the blood from his face?!

(They clash—Telemachus, defensive, just trying to protect himself. He’s not a warrior like Hector. But Hector is blinded by grief, by fury—)

TELEMACHUS (panting, desperate):

I am not him!

HECTOR (furious, raising his sword):

Then why do I still see his hands on my son—?!

(A sharp slash. Silence.)

CASSANDRA (shouting, horrified):

HECTOR—!!

(Telemachus gasps, staggering back—hand pressed to his side. Blood spills between his fingers.)

(Paris and Cassandra rush forward. Hector freezes. The blade is still in his hands. His breath is ragged, eyes wide.*)

HECTOR (hoarse, shaken):

…What have I done?

(Telemachus sways on his feet, barely holding himself up. He looks at Hector—at the devastation in his eyes. His voice is weak, but laced with something heavier.)

TELEMACHUS:

You see him in me.

But now, Hector?

I think I see him in you.

(Hector staggers—like Telemachus just drove the sword into him. He drops his weapon.)

[whispersfromtroy]

Hey guys remember this I sure do

SONG 37: WOUNDS AND SCARS

(Low, simmering instrumental—tense, like a quiet storm on the horizon. Hector stands still, processing what he just learned. Telemachus watches, uneasy.)

---

HECTOR (quiet, restrained, in disbelief):

Say it again.

Say it again.

Tell me who did it—who threw my son to the wind?

(Silence. Telemachus doesn’t answer. Hector already knows.)

HECTOR (shaky breath, voice breaking):

Your father.

(The weight of those words crushes the air between them.)

TELEMACHUS (stammering, desperate):

I—I didn’t know, I swear to you—

I didn’t—

HECTOR (a bitter laugh, but his voice is still calm):

Of course, you didn’t.

Of course.

Why would you?

Just a story, just a tale.

A nameless child, a faceless wail.

Not even a memory to you.

(The music swells with tension. Paris and Cassandra exchange uneasy glances in the background.)

HECTOR (controlled, but cold, circling Telemachus):

I know it’s not your hands,

Not your voice, not your sins—

But gods, do you know what it’s like

To see a father in his son’s skin?

(Telemachus flinches. He doesn’t know how to answer. Hector exhales sharply, shaking his head.)

HECTOR (voice shaking, trying to convince himself):

You are not him.

You are not him.

You are—

(The music drops—something in Hector snaps.)

HECTOR (suddenly furious):

Then why do I see him when I look at you?!

(The storm hits—the orchestra swells, and Telemachus staggers back as Hector advances.)

TELEMACHUS (angry now, voice cracking):

You think I wanted this?!

To be his son?!

To wear his face like a curse I can’t outrun?!

HECTOR:

You are his blood! You bear his name!

You walk free while my son’s bones rot in the rain!

(Paris steps in, hands raised, trying to break the tension.)

PARIS (urgent):

Hector—stop, just breathe—*

(But Hector isn’t listening. The pain’s been buried too deep for too long.)

HECTOR:

You were born in his shadow,

But you stand in his place!

Tell me, Telemachus—

Can you wash the blood from his face?!

(They clash—Telemachus, defensive, just trying to protect himself. He’s not a warrior like Hector. But Hector is blinded by grief, by fury—)

TELEMACHUS (panting, desperate):

I am not him!

HECTOR (furious, raising his sword):

Then why do I still see his hands on my son—?!

(A sharp slash. Silence.)

CASSANDRA (shouting, horrified):

HECTOR—!!

(Telemachus gasps, staggering back—hand pressed to his side. Blood spills between his fingers.)

(Paris and Cassandra rush forward. Hector freezes. The blade is still in his hands. His breath is ragged, eyes wide.*)

HECTOR (hoarse, shaken):

…What have I done?

(Telemachus sways on his feet, barely holding himself up. He looks at Hector—at the devastation in his eyes. His voice is weak, but laced with something heavier.)

TELEMACHUS:

You see him in me.

But now, Hector?

I think I see him in you.

(Hector staggers—like Telemachus just drove the sword into him. He drops his weapon.)

[whispersfromtroy]

Hector to Telemachus

"I'm so glad we see eye to ey- OH FUCK I STABBED IT-"

[whispersfromtroy]

Did you think I was leaving out my BROS? No we get a song, here’s a summary before I post it:

Amphinomus: hey the prince is oddly quiet and he’s slept for a long time

Antinous: LETS PARTY!!!

Eurymachus: LETS PARTY!!!

Eurymachus: Melanthius I’m kissing your sister

Melanthius: LETS PARTY!!! wait

Leodes: 🙏

Amphinomus: my mental state is declining

[whispersfromtroy]

Ah, I see willow has begun hyperfixating again

Yes :3

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One of the songs just go like this:

Cassandra: And.. don’t forget me. don’t forget my warning… forget everybody. but don’t forget nobody.

Telemachus: But that doesn’t make se

Cassandra: LISTEN.

[whispersfromtroy]

Penelope: Son why are you bandaged

Telemachus:

Telemachus: So