Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Although I brought a knowing the Gods understood, ruling the Underworld was trying. Surrounded by those in need and judging those who live in worlds so different from my own. The sensation of touch sickened me when I returned to the world. I found it appalling. Disgusting.
Until the visions of Persephone.
She is the first person whose touch does not make me want to rage for as many centuries as I spent imprisoned.
She is the only person’s touch I have ever wanted. And she is the other half to what is required in the Underworld. She will be the Queen of the Dead. And what an irony it is for her as in the other realms she provides the most comforting life in delicate flowers that cannot exist in these walls of crystals.
“Do not leave her tonight?” My brow pinches at the absurdity. She does not care for companionship. She does not crave me the way I crave her. And I do not wish to submit myself to rejection so bluntly.
It is brazen of Minox to suggest it. I never wish to be confronted with this lack in myself. How am I supposed to know how to touch her in a way that would bring comfort? I could not bring comfort to myself in all those dark, tortured years, and very little has changed since then. I remind myself of the warning from the Fates: in time she will be yours. But you must be patient.
“I believe,” Minox says slowly. “You wish to give her comfort.”
I do not speak. I cannot speak. His daring has gone too far. He has seen too much to continue. Now, at least.
“Leave me,” I murmur lowly, barely able to refrain from anger. My wants have never been a concern to others. Never.
“Yes, my Lord,” Minox says, and melts back into the shadows.
With Cerberus at my side, the hours pass. They do not pass quickly, or enjoyably, but they pass with more ease than before. I pay no attention to where we walk. I throw a stick for him in a meadow. I let him roam through wild gardens, sniffing out small creatures with his head. In the distance, the sky cracks along the river. More souls arriving. As souls come, others leave. Choosing the earthly realm. If ever there is an imbalance, the sky cracks, shattering the weight of what the Underworld carries. Souls who do not wish to return are burned to ash. No longer existing to ensure the balance. The count in the Earth realm echoes in the Underworld. As above, so below. More souls must enter the mortal world. Or else there will be consequences. I do not care for such things, but balance must be maintained.
Night is falling by the time I am calm enough to return. The dusk falls away into dark as I take Cerberus inside.
He looks up at me, questioning.
I pat each of his heads. “Go to them. Come back when you are finished.”
Cerberus has many places to visit within my home each day. His favorite place is the kitchens. They are busy all night, as the scale of my home is fit for the vastness of the Underworld. I am not the only one who dwells here. There are guards. Staff. Advisors. Though I spend many hours in solitude, my home is a world unto itself—a palace, or a city. Cerberus can find companionship at all hours of the night, and I do not begrudge him his routines. For he is an enforcer and alerts me to those who are not welcomed here.
For if Zeus were to send a God to have prying eyes in my palace, Cerberus would know and therefore I. It is a good sign that he is at peace.
He bounds off, and I return to my bedchambers. Though I have ordered the windows shut again, the cold seeps in. That is the way of the Underworld. To Persephone, it will be cold until she learns to find her warmth.
The sconces burn low when I enter, closing the door quietly behind me. I cross the room to change and collect a blanket, then approach the bed. I could light the fires, but it will not aid her in finding her powers. Patience, I remind myself. Patience.
Persephone is already under the sheet. The fabric outlines the curves of her body, and her hair stands out in contrast to the pillow. She does not speak, though I can tell from the way her shoulders rise and fall that she is not yet asleep.
I climb into the bed next to her and, with a motion, extinguish the sconces.
The dark is soothing, whatever Persephone may think of it. I close my eyes and let it cool my thoughts for a few moments before I arrange the blanket over myself.