Page 76 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Twilight cloaked the Underworld, even in the absence of the sun. Darkness bloomed in shades of amethyst and ink, soft and full.
A figure stood at the garden’s edge, waiting.
His skin was smooth and dark, eyes flickering gold—not the sensual blaze of Eros, but something quieter. Eyes that held the stillness of tombs, the patience of eons, and a gentleness that she hadn’t expected from one who bore his name.
His hair was ebony, threaded with faint gold. Wings rose over his shoulders, vast and arching. The feathers shimmered darkly in iridescent hues of indigo and purple—twilight captured in flight.
As she approached, the god’s gaze lifted to meet hers.
“My lady,” he said, voice rich and warm. He inclined his head with quiet grace. “I am Thanatos.”
“Death,” Kore breathed, the word catching in her throat.
A faint smile touched his lips. “Indeed,” he said, offering his hand. “He awaits you.”
His touch startled her—not cold, as she had braced for, but warm and steady. Thanatos moved beside her like a shadow in deep water, fluid and silent, guiding her through the garden’s hush.
“We go to the river,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “The oath will be sworn there.”
She blinked. “You will oversee it?”
He chuckled, a soft, dark melody. “Love and death are not so different. Both are thresholds.” His eyes sparkled. “And many find my touch kinder than Eros’s.”
They approached the stone landing that rose above the dark rush of the Styx. There, waiting alone in the river’s mist, stood a solitary figure.
He was a pillar of dark strength, his arms folded over his chest. His himation rippled in the wind, stark against the pale mist coiling up from the crashing river. Upon his brow, a laurel of dark gold glinted in the failing light—ancient, regal, unyielding.
Hades’s gaze was fixed on the horizon until he sensed her. Then he turned.
His eyes moved slowly over her, sweeping against the curve of her waist, her bare shoulder, before rising to her face. The river’s roar fell away to a hush. The world drew inward, narrowing to his gaze, the silent gravity of the moment. Her heart was trying to escape, beating wildly against her ribs.
He raised a hand to her, a wordless invitation. On unsteady legs, she stepped forward and placed her hand in his.
His touch was a contradiction—warmth that steadied, heat that seared. Grounding her even as it consumed every thought.
Thanatos stood between them, a sentinel of ancient beauty. A golden goblet appeared in his hand, and he knelt, filling it from the churning waters.
Straightening, he faced Hades. “Lord Hades, do you swear by the River Styx your fealty and respect to Persephone, goddess of spring, as your wife?”
“I swear it.”
The oath was iron. It swelled on the air, the stone beneath her feet trembling in acknowledgment.
Thanatos turned to her. “Persephone, do you swear by the River Styx your fealty and respect to Hades, Lord of the Underworld, as your lord husband?”
Her lips parted to speak. But the words caught, faltering on her tongue.
Sharp fear pierced her chest, her mother’s warnings forming an icy chainaround her heart. A chorus of caution whispering about lies and beguilement.
Then—
“Persephone.”
Hades’s deep timbre cut through the storm.
His fingers tightened around hers. She looked up into his eyes, finding no conquest—only certainty.
“Swear it.”
