MyniQ

In the sweltering heat of Athens' summer, a sense of unease settled over the city like a shroud. It was the year 399 BCE, and the whispers of Socrates' execution had reached every corner of the metropolis. No one knew what really happened that fateful day in prison, but rumors whispered of a poisoning so swift, it seemed almost... elegant.

I trudged through the narrow alleys, trying to shake off the feeling that I was being watched. My footsteps echoed off the walls as I walked towards the house where Socrates' widow resided. The wind carried a faint scent of hemlock, and my heart skipped a beat. Coincidence? Or something more?

I pushed open the door, and a warm light spilled out onto the street. Inside, I found myself surrounded by the remnants of a life brutally cut short. Socrates' chair sat vacant, as if he would return any moment to resume his philosophical musings. But it was the look in the widow's eyes that made my blood run cold – a look that screamed 'they're watching us still'.