A small object asked to do an enormous amount of work. [SPOILER: Antinous is sprawled at the wine and meat like a man who has earned the right to rest. He lifts the cup. Before it touches his mouth Odysseus draws and fires, and the arrow takes him in the throat — a hunter’s shot, a shot that knows where a thing dies without warning. The cup falls. The wine runs across the stone. The blood runs darker, faster. He gets up for a moment, hands at his throat, and goes down. The cup is the marker of everything the suitors thought they had: the ease of being able to drink, the assumption of another night. It hits the floor before the rest of them understand what has happened.]
Antinous's Cup
Raised to his lips. Never reaches them. The wine spills across stone, mixing with the blood that runs darker and faster.