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)
No sense can be made.
I push aside the strange stillness of this room—this space—and bring what matters to the tip of my tongue.
“Does Zeus know, or does he not know that Persephone resides with me?”
The Fates glance at one another as if they are communicating thoughts with only a look. The one in the center—her dark hair is the feature that stands out most—meets my eyes.
“Zeus believes, but he does not know entirely,” she says, although the words seem to come from all of them at once. The smooth, regal voice is soft, but fills the room. It does not echo, though there is little else in the chamber. Perhaps there is, but I cannot see it. “Ignoring him is not wise.”
“I am not ignoring him.”
“Are you not?” they ask and their glare seems to dare me to lie to them.
“No. I am making the necessary consultations. That is prudence, not avoidance.”
“So you have come to us.” The Fates rise from their chairs and stand together, the hems of their gowns turning hazy, much like the mists of time. I remain where I stand. There is no wind inside this chamber, but their gowns move as if in a breeze. They reach for each other’s hands, touching and pulling back. “You believe a change will come about when you meet with him.”
“I know it will.”
I do not offer more of my thoughts on the matter. Things always change when two forces meet with opposite desires.
Love or desire? Her question resonates through me, as if the Fates have pulled the question from my memory themselves.
I feel Persephone’s absence in painful longing, watching the Fates stand together. I need her beside me. It is a desire I will not allow myself to feel in this place. My emotions are too strong as it is, and they are balanced against those years of isolation. It is not like me to wish for the touch of another, especially one so casual as what the Fates are sharing now. Yet I find myself wanting it.
Only from Persephone. No one else.
I do not flex my hands against the urge, but it is there.
For a few moments, it seems the Fates are waiting for me to speak. Perhaps they are remaining silent to encourage me to do so.
I do not speak, I wait for their consult as they pick through my mind. I think of my hands on Persephone’s skin. I think of her heels in my back. I think of how she tasted, and how she sounded, and how she took me into her body and let me find pleasure there. I did not think it would be like it was between us. I did not expect to be able to let myself get lost enough to have such a powerful release.
My mouth goes dry remembering it. Dangerous, to let my mind wander at a moment like this, but the Fates must decide that I am not going to continue.
“Do not underestimate the power of the Goddess.” I am not sure which one of them speaks. It could be all of them. It could be none of them as the voice seems to come from deep within my mind. “The more support you give her, the less she will need from you. The more powerful she will become.”
Those words do not inspire desire in me. They inspire pure irritation. The less she will need from me? Why do the Fates insist on misunderstanding me? Why can’t they see these threads when they can see so many others?
"I do not wish for my wife to require my hand," I say sharply. "I wish for her to desire it above all else. Is such a partnership in your visions?"
The Fates shiver, as if a stronger breeze has come through the room, but I do not feel a change in the air. I would welcome it if I could.
"It's a dangerous game you're playing," they say, a warning edge in their tone.
I laugh. It cuts through the stillness and echoes back at me. “Yet we're playing it nonetheless. Such is the way of Gods.”
The sound of whispers fills a room. Is it the Fates, or souls out of time? What are they discussing? I cannot make out a single word. The Fates themselves shift in their places, their hands brushing against one another’s, eyes on me.
“Zeus would win if it came to a war,” one of them says. “Only in the sense that you would be trapped in a hell of your own making.”
The voice splits in two. “The dead will be the undoing,” another adds, tone sharper. “For all mortals will perish.”
All mortals would perish. My eyes widen with what they predict. It is not possible for the mortal realm to be barren. Demeter. The singular Goddess’ name echoes in my mind and a chill flows down my arms.