Page 150 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Aphrodite didn’t glance her way, her eyes fixed on Hephaestus.
But Aglaia felt his gaze. It pressed between her shoulder blades, deepening the harsh ache in her chest.
By the time she reached the forest’s edge, her composure gave way. Tears spilled soundlessly, turning the trees into a watery blur. The pain inside sharpened, grew claws, and tore deep.
She stumbled once. Then again.
And then she ran.
Into the woods, breath breaking around the sob rising as she tried to outrun the hurt clawing at her heart.
Chapter 56
In the quiet hollow, beneath the branches of flowering dogwoods, the air was bright and sun-warmed.
There, mortal mothers gathered beneath the open sky, their laughter lilting like birdsong as Aglaia and her sisters moved among them, blessing each infant.
From the edge of the glen, Hephaestus watched in silence. He leaned against the rough bark of a tree, arms loosely folded across his chest.
His gaze followed her.
Her sisters were taller, their gold-burnished hair catching the sunlight like polished bronze, radiant and sunlit, undeniably beautiful. But Aglaia, smaller in stature and dark-haired, shimmered with a more elusive brilliance. While her sisters gleamed like daybreak, she burned with the quiet clarity of starlight—cool, luminous and rare. A star among flame. A diamond set in gold.
Barefoot in the grass, she moved with easy grace, her fingers grazing small fingers and toes. Her laughter rippled in the air, the breeze stirring the soft folds of her chiton around her legs. That same unassuming grace that had steadied him a thousand times before.
One of the children babbled at her, nonsense spilling into the air. Aglaia’s eyes widened in delighted surprise, and her smile bloomed bright and instinctive.
The corner of Hephaestus’s mouth lifted as he watched, something shifting warmly in his chest. Everything about her—every quiet laugh, soft touch—was a chisel to the center of him, breaking away pieces of iron.
Her voice carried softly to him.
“May the beauty of life flourish in you, little one,” she said, her hand cradling a round cheek. “May you live in goodness and abundance for all your days.”
It was a gentle rite, yet no less sacred than the flame and heat of his forge.
As the mortal women began to drift away, Aglaia stood watching them go. Something wistful lingered in her gaze, tenderness in the curve of her mouth.
When the last mortal vanished, he stepped forward.
Thalia noticed him first. “Lord Hephaestus,” she said, dipping into a graceful curtsey.
Aglaia turned at once, startled. Surprise lit her eyes as they found him, then faltered. In its place, a swift flicker of apprehension rose before she glanced down.
But he’d already seen. The sight pricked deep, like a thorn to flesh.
He inclined his head to her sisters, though the weight of his attention never left her. “Forgive my intrusion,” he said. “I’ve come for my wife. I believe she sought refuge here.”
A knowing glance passed between Thalia and Euphrosyne. Then they bowed and slipped away without a word, vanishing like mist among the trees.
Leaving her to him.
The silence held heavy, thick and trembling between them.
Hephaestus strode forward, closing the distance across the glen. As he neared, he watched her breath quicken. The rise and fall of her chest tightened, pulse fluttering swiftly in her throat.
He stopped before her. For a moment, he simply looked, letting his gaze drag over her.
She was beautiful. Achingly so.
