Page 20 of His in the Dark

There is some spell over the window itself, for I can see nothing but dark skies as if in the highest of towers. And yet I know, the Underworld is not empty. It is not vacant. I scream out more than a dozen times, my throat raw and etched with pain by the time I decide the effort is futile.

No one can hear me and I cannot see a soul from this place.

A shiver runs through me. Does he mean to torture me?

Hades. I nearly whisper his name. The God of the Underworld and the dead. The unseen one. I’ve heard tales of his brutality and power, but never have I witnessed the man. His dark eyes, nearly devoid of life itself and sharp chiseled jaw that only adds to his dominance. It’s the air that surrounds him though, I can feel it beg my body to bow to his. His power is undeniable, as is the fear that burrows itself within me.

Tears prick as I attempt to pull once again and find it useless. Swallowing thickly, I search the near vacant room for anything. There exists a carved dresser with intricate detail I can barely make out through my blurred vision. An ornately carved floor to ceiling mirror. And a thin silk black sheet on a large bed with an amber chaise at the end, the dark coloring mirroring the ancient wood. The walls shine of obsidian sheen. And the floor appears to be petrified wood slabs.

I attempt to pull from the power of the crystals that surround me, but they betray me, giving me nothing. I feel nothing from them.

A gasp is pulled from my wretched throat as I try to remember my teachings. Though they fail me now, as my powers have failed me.

Someone save me, I plead with the darkness.

Mother, I nearly cry out as my head rocks back. If Zeus will not save me, surely my mother will not stand for such things. I must last. I must only last long enough for intervention.

I know this for certain. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gather my pride and again search the room, finding the chill has only gotten colder.

The magic chain braids itself together when I rise from the bed. Gently, testing my boundaries. Icanrise from the bed, but it’s not much of a comfort. There is no comfort in this room. It's spacious and speaks of wealth, but it is not filled with the kinds of things that might tell me about Hades. Very few items at all, and nothing personal.

I should have expected that there would not be any sign of a heart. Hades was bold and cruel enough to have me stolen away from my home and bound to the bed with magic. The man cannot have any kind of tenderness to him. There can be nothingsoft.

Not here where he rules the dead and determines punishment. A God of his power and divinity…

Why would Hades help me find my powers again?The thought riddles its way into my mind. He said he would help me. And the promise of such things …

My mind spirals around the possibilities. Is there a part of me that craves freedom and power and strength more than I crave my freedom in this moment?

It tempts me. The promise of my powers. Can he do such things? Is he merely lying to gain my submission?

Time ticks away with no signs of change apart from the wind howling. Hours pass and all I am left with is the pacing and racing thoughts. I fear the heart of me is already becoming divided in these long hours alone. I fear I cannot trust myself to know which cravings are born of the cold and the isolation and the hunger and which are my own.

The craving I have for Hades has never been so strong. It has never felt so insidious. I always knew I could pull myself away from thoughts of him before. I could go to my mother’s gardens or walk in the halls of Olympus, bathing in the light, and then I would not be at the mercy of my desires.

Now I am athismercy, and the thought enrages me.

It is him who stared back at me in the dark waters. It is Hades who crept into my dreams. I know now without a doubt.

I only wish it enraged me more. I wish there wasn’t so much shameful interest. So much want for this man. Perhaps it is yet another spell he’s cast against me.

I do not trust it. I do not trust him at all.

My face heats, even in the cold of the room, and I look down at my hands. The magic chains flicker around my wrists.

If I tug at them, they will eventually tug back, keeping me here.

If I rise from the bed, I have to move slowly and carefully across the room, in order for the chains not to react.

Our conversation rings in my ears, sending more blood rushing to my cheeks.

I will help you.

In exchange for what?

If you submit.

Never. I willneversubmit.

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