Page 49 of Hades and Persephone: Crown of Souls

I'm trying to find peace. I am trying to reconcile with the girl that I once was, so that, perhaps, I can be better inthislife. For myself and for Hades. But I'm still missing so many essential pieces. My picture of the past is jagged and blurry and wrought with uncertainty.

The touch of the sea is cool. Gentle waves roll over my bare feet, and pebbles of a perfectly white sand slide between my toes. My gown is bunched up by my hips, and I have no worries that someone might find me here. Hecate is the only one who knows I've come, and I don't think she's going to tell anyone of my whereabouts. At least not soon.

I've spent my entire life alone. From my very early years, I have known what it means to crave attention. To yearn for affection. To ache for connection.

I've always been the ‘weird girl’.

The one who heard voices in her mind.

No, not voices. A single, persistent voice.

Even though I'd hid the voice for years, those in my life never forgot. Not really. Our town was a small one. A God-fearing town with people quick to see the devil.

I had existed most of my life, isolated. People were kind, of course. Mom and Dad were in good standing in our small town. They gave time and resources to the Church, and they were quick to do the same to all who found themselves in need.

People offered small talk where necessary, and surface smiles when it was appropriate they hold their tongues.

Kids were the worst, though. Whispers of the parents never failed to fall from the barbed tips of little tongues. It was through those words, the taunts, and shuns that I learned. I learned to be okay being alone.

But since Greece—since Hades, I've come to need him in a way I thought I would never need anyone. I've come to crave him beyond the craving I held inside for basic connection and affection.

He's infected the very blood in my veins.

He has invaded the marrow that swims in my bones.

I've never been whole, because I've always been the other half ofhim.

I don't care what he says about us not being soul mates. I know that I am his. I know he is mine. The sting of his rejection does not lessen that knowing.

And the knowing doesn't lessen the sting.

Inhaling deeply, I exhale loudly. I once heard a yoga instructor call it ocean breathing. And because I'm here, sitting before the most exquisite crystalline sea, I figure it is fitting.

Deep ocean breath in, deep ocean breath out.

I could live here in the Underworld for eternity, but I'm going to have to return to the living realm soon.

I can't imagine that my mom isn't losing her mind over the fact I've not answered my phone. And God knows, knowing myfather, my disappearance has likely caused him to book a flight, in which case he's going to be very unimpressed.

Perhaps time in the Underworld passes differently than in the living realm. Perhaps my weeks here are seconds in the realm above.

I can hope, because I really don't want to deal with the fallout of my disappearance with my parents. Greece will be a long-forgotten memory if my father books that flight.

I'm about to flop back on the sand, a whole new loop of anxiety playing in my mind, but something in the distance catches my eye. Something that snags my heart, because it's not just in the distance—it's moving closer.

Flashes of silver, blue, and white break the bioluminescent water, and fear grips me. Aethon must sense it, because he snuffs behind me. I should look at him. I should stand, climb atop him, and urge him to run.

But I do none of that.

Probably becauseI can't move.

I am paralyzed. I swear to all that is holy, what moves toward me, is a mermaid.

It's the very same mermaid I thought I saw off Hades’ yacht, when I thought I was losing my mind.

It moves impossibly fast, so fast, I hardly have a moment to collect my thoughts before it is there. The luminescent sea waters ignite the mermaid—no, not mermaid. Merman.

Cast in an ethereal glow, he is exquisite. Through the sparkling waters, I can see him plainly. All of him. His silvery-blue fish tail—oh, my god, the man has a fish tail!—swishes gently in the clear water. Pebbles of glassy water droplets cling to ebony skin that looks honest-to-God, carved of stone. His hair is a shocking fall of long white that makes me think of Ariel’s father, which is the cherry on the very top of a very tall cake ofinsanity. What’s more, those long locks of white hair aren’t wet at all, and the man—maid—merman…

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