Page 108 of Hekate: The Witch (Goddesses of the Underworld #1)

The Crone

She was the oldest story Asphodel had to offer.

The whisper passed from ghost to ghost said that she had walked here for decades.

Longer than I had been in the Underworld, longer, it is said, than Hades or even Styx had been.

She was glimpsed walking only by the fortunate few and they all said the same of her: she was seeking someone.

Someone she had never found. Her long white hair fell to her ankles.

She wore a black shroud and carried a wooden cane, its handle smooth under her wizened hands.

She kept her distance, never approaching any of the spirits who walked here.

So when she appeared before me one day, I remembered Styx’s words about the strange, terrifying beings and my heart thudded at her proximity to me.

Where her pupils were meant to be, there was milk-white nothingness, and yet it still felt like she was staring into my soul.

When she sensed me, she smiled and said, ‘It is you, keeper of the crossroads.’ I shook my head, confused by her words.

‘I am just Hekate,’ I told her quietly. She nodded slowly, ‘Yes. Hekate, the keeper of the crossroads. I have a tale for you.’ I wanted to run because that was what every bone in my body was telling me to do.

But her words made me curious. And stories had become my only way to know this unusual realm I lived in.

It was the offer of a story that made me stay.

Instead of running, I simply nodded and sat down among the asphodel-grey flowers and lavender to listen.