Page 22 of His in the Dark

Hades is the one who did this to me.

Not only stealing me from my rooms on Olympus, but also draining my powers so he could do so. My powers began to weaken when he appeared in my dreams. He started stealing those long before he came forme.

He did this to me.

Anger lights like a flame in the hearth. It dances with other flames. How dare he! He will pay for his crimes.

I have been so curious about the man in the shadows. I have been so hungry to know more about him. I fear his power, and his presence, but I also fear my own desire. I desired him more than I desired anything else, a fact I could not admit even in my own mind.

Hades is a man I know of but never saw. His face did not appear to me. To know it is him who has done this. The Godwho came from a pit of bile in the Titan’s stomach. A ruthless, cruel and brutal fighter who speaks of just and righteousness but knows not of humanity….

All the things I have known and the stories I've been told swell into my head at once.

This lore was never hidden from me growing up, but it did not seem real—not the way Olympus seemed real. I’d never laid eyes on the realm. For I was not meant for this place and yet he dragged me here. Where my powers mean naught. Why take me as a queen when I am useless here? Why drain me of my light and then throw me into darkness and despair?

How was I to know that the stories would be so much more than stories?

Prophecies are not always made manifest. Fatesdochange. The Gods swirl their fingers into magic and shift the ways of the world.

But here, in the cold, dark heart of the Underworld, I feel like a child opening her eyes for the first time.

All of it was true. Everything my mother ever told me, every story ever whispered into my ear—it's all true.

And now I will never escape from it.

My sobs overwhelm me. I bury my face in my hands and cry on the rug. My head throbs.

I miss my mother with a palpable ache in my chest. I wish I could hear her voice. I wish I could seek her guidance.

At some point, at the sound of a tinker I raise my eyes and find that a new tray has appeared on the table.

Someone—or the Underworld itself—has provided food. A plate with bread. A bowl with steam rising from it. A red, shiny pomegranate, cracked open with the seeds offering a delightful image.

I do not go to the table and eat. I do not pour water from the pitcher and drink.

I do not even dare to venture back to the bed.

I fear that if I submit in any way, I have lost a game I do not even know the rules to yet.

I sit alone on the rug with my knees drawn up, holding them close to my body for warmth. My tears run down my cheeks and dry in cold streaks. My throat hurts. It's raw from the sobbing and screaming and fits. I sit perfectly still, unwilling to act until I’m provided with more information.

I can think of nothing but how much I miss my mother and Beatrice. My heart aches for them and I pray they do not think I’ve left them of my own accord.

I’m not sure how long it's been when the door to the bedroom opens. With a sharp turn, I face the creak of the hinges.

Hades enters, tall and as calm as ice. Folded over one arm is a blanket. I offer a humorless huff, more than aware that this chill was his intention.

I am no fool and I do not make deals with those who force a bargain that is nothing more than pain and suffering. This is no mercy, this is only his will.

And I refuse it.

I stare at the blanket, my chest aching with how much I wish to be warm, and then I pull my gaze away. Ripping it from the offering definitely.

He moves around the room for a minute or two, his steps eerily patient. I stare down at the tops of my knees, the nape of my neck hot.

The air moves behind me. There is the sound of fabric being rearranged.

I do not turn.

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