Page 9 of His in the Dark

PERSEPHONE

T he chill is barely a thought as I grasp at my wrists and then my surroundings. My throat is tight and my body stiff. How the hell did this happen? I can barely remember the chain of events that led me here.

The shackles that bind me are not metal, but magic. That much is obvious. From deep in the pit of my womb I attempt to gather my power, praying for it to course through me and yet I feel nothing of it. A faint semblance of what used to flourish is managed and it is useless against the chains.

They are as strong as anything I've ever encountered in Olympus. Stronger still, though I do not wish to acknowledge such truth as I scream out and tug with all my might. I do not wish to feel powerless. But as my breath comes in pants and all my might proves useless, I’m left with the dread of what is.

I am powerless.

I have been kidnapped, I have been chained. All to the will of Hades.

Submit , the single word echoes in my mind and a chill flows down my spine. A deep seed of power brews within me at the memory of his whisper.

With a gust of wind, my thoughts are broken and I turn to the open window.

There is some spell over the window itself, for I can see nothing but dark skies as if in the highest of towers. And yet I know, the Underworld is not empty. It is not vacant. I scream out more than a dozen times, my throat raw and etched with pain by the time I decide the effort is futile.

No one can hear me and I cannot see a soul from this place.

A shiver runs through me. Does he mean to torture me?

Hades. I nearly whisper his name. The God of the Underworld and the dead. The unseen one. I’ve heard tales of his brutality and power, but never have I witnessed the man. His dark eyes, nearly devoid of life itself and sharp chiseled jaw that only adds to his dominance. It’s the air that surrounds him though, I can feel it beg my body to bow to his. His power is undeniable, as is the fear that burrows itself within me.

Tears prick as I attempt to pull once again and find it useless. Swallowing thickly, I search the near vacant room for anything. There exists a carved dresser with intricate detail I can barely make out through my blurred vision. An ornately carved floor to ceiling mirror. And a thin silk black sheet on a large bed with an amber chaise at the end, the dark coloring mirroring the ancient wood. The walls shine of obsidian sheen. And the floor appears to be petrified wood slabs.

I attempt to pull from the power of the crystals that surround me, but they betray me, giving me nothing. I feel nothing from them.

A gasp is pulled from my wretched throat as I try to remember my teachings. Though they fail me now, as my powers have failed me.

Someone save me , I plead with the darkness.

Mother , I nearly cry out as my head rocks back. If Zeus will not save me, surely my mother will not stand for such things. I must last. I must only last long enough for intervention.

I know this for certain. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gather my pride and again search the room, finding the chill has only gotten colder.

The magic chain braids itself together when I rise from the bed. Gently, testing my boundaries. I can rise from the bed, but it’s not much of a comfort. There is no comfort in this room. It's spacious and speaks of wealth, but it is not filled with the kinds of things that might tell me about Hades. Very few items at all, and nothing personal.

I should have expected that there would not be any sign of a heart. Hades was bold and cruel enough to have me stolen away from my home and bound to the bed with magic. The man cannot have any kind of tenderness to him. There can be nothing soft.

Not here where he rules the dead and determines punishment. A God of his power and divinity…

Why would Hades help me find my powers again? The thought riddles its way into my mind. He said he would help me. And the promise of such things …

My mind spirals around the possibilities. Is there a part of me that craves freedom and power and strength more than I crave my freedom in this moment?

It tempts me. The promise of my powers. Can he do such things? Is he merely lying to gain my submission?

Time ticks away with no signs of change apart from the wind howling. Hours pass and all I am left with is the pacing and racing thoughts. I fear the heart of me is already becoming divided in these long hours alone. I fear I cannot trust myself to know which cravings are born of the cold and the isolation and the hunger and which are my own.

The craving I have for Hades has never been so strong. It has never felt so insidious. I always knew I could pull myself away from thoughts of him before. I could go to my mother’s gardens or walk in the halls of Olympus, bathing in the light, and then I would not be at the mercy of my desires.

Now I am at his mercy, and the thought enrages me.

It is him who stared back at me in the dark waters. It is Hades who crept into my dreams. I know now without a doubt.

I only wish it enraged me more. I wish there wasn’t so much shameful interest. So much want for this man. Perhaps it is yet another spell he’s cast against me.

I do not trust it. I do not trust him at all.

My face heats, even in the cold of the room, and I look down at my hands. The magic chains flicker around my wrists.

If I tug at them, they will eventually tug back, keeping me here.

If I rise from the bed, I have to move slowly and carefully across the room, in order for the chains not to react.

Our conversation rings in my ears, sending more blood rushing to my cheeks.

I will help you.

In exchange for what?

If you submit.

Never. I will never submit.

I was proud of myself for how brave I sounded. I was proud of myself for the fight that rose in me.

But now, in the privacy of the room, with my face flushing and my body hot…

Doubt grows in me like the cold in the room. As much as I want to tell myself that Hades feels nothing—that he’s cold and heartless and mean—I saw something else.

I saw fire in Hades’s eyes. I saw heat and passion and perhaps even a little amusement. Anger rises within me. How dare he. But the flicker of rage is only that. A flicker.

Shame trickles over my skin. I hide my face in my hands, wishing I could hide from myself.

But there’s nobody else here. I am alone, and a captive, and getting colder by the second. I’m lost in the dark. Lost in this room. A plaything for a God who thinks of me as his property. He thinks of me as someone to steal, like a flower plucked from the gardens of Olympus.

Even worse, he was right. My power is weak. I have nowhere to run in this realm.

And still, I crave that heat I saw in his eyes. I want to blame it on the cold, but it’s not only that my nipples have peaked and my teeth are beginning to chatter. It’s also because his presence was exhilarating. Exciting. I have thought so much about my waning powers lately that I would hardly let myself consider the dreams I had of Hades and the power I felt in those dreams.

I had some power, too. He did not look at me with cold, blank eyes. He leaned close enough for me to see that I was affecting him. That he desires…

Why me, with my weak powers? Surely a God like Hades would want a more ruthless queen.

The flush on my skin deepens at the memory of his statement.

You are to be my queen.

I can never admit how seductive those words sounded when Hades said them, as if it was fated. My heart pounds. My mouth waters. If I was his queen, I would also be his equal. He would not rule over me. We could rule this realm together.

It could all be lies. Simply a pawn in his game.

The spell comes back to me. I must have spoken it wrong. I must’ve ruined what should have been my saving grace.

This was not the kind of power I meant. I did not mean the kind of power that comes from a man who keeps me chained. I did not mean the kind of power that comes from judgement and death. I meant the kind of power that comes from life. From new flowers and a full harvest. From the love of the people I’m meant to protect.

The one thing I know of the Underworld, is that no new life can grow. Raising my hand, I attempt a flower. A single lonely flower to grow between the crack of obsidian in the corner of the room. There is no nourishment, no soil. No possibility for growth. Nothing moves, not within and not without.

I feel nothing. As if my powers do not even exist.

A quiet voice murmurs in the back of my mind— is it not power to be the only light in the dark? Do you dare to question the will of the Gods, and the will of fate?

My throat tightens to the extent that I fear I cannot breathe. I do not know how long it’s been since Hades left me here. Hours at least if not the full day. I stand tall and keep my pace slow until I’ve reached a table near the windows. A glass pitcher of water rests on it. With my throat aching, I allow my fingertips to glide down the etched side of it. I pick it up and hurl it across the room, the anger brewing inside of me like I’ve never felt before splashing water onto the dark floor.

The pitcher shatters and a darkness sweeps through me. With trembling hands, I allow them to fall to my side and take in what I’ve done.

Then, as if nothing had happened, it joins back together, the glittering pieces flickering in the dim light and the pitcher returns to its place on the table.

I repeat this process with every item that I can lift. The pillows return to the bed as soon as I let go. The thin soft rug of fur will not tear under my fingers. I pull tufts out of its weft, but it repairs itself.

Any effort to change the makings of the room prove worthless. And yet it only angers me more.

I try my magic.

It’s like the candle, refusing to light. My strength drains out of me, and I fall to my knees, dizzy and lightheaded. The rug is the only softness under me. I have spent my life dwelling in the bright, beautiful halls of Olympus, and this dark, cold room sinks into my soul. Frustrated tears burn in my eyes.

I feel as if I’ve gone mad. I can do nothing but exist with my thoughts in a room I cannot change with a fate that is not one I chose.

Nothing could be more shameful than my loneliness. Nothing could be more shameful than wanting Hades to come back.

Nothing could be more shameful than craving his attention if for no other reason than information and perhaps a deal.

Because as I kneel on the rug, trying not to cry, one thing becomes clear.

Hades is the one who did this to me.

Not only stealing me from my rooms on Olympus, but also draining my powers so he could do so. My powers began to weaken when he appeared in my dreams. He started stealing those long before he came for me .

He did this to me.

Anger lights like a flame in the hearth. It dances with other flames. How dare he! He will pay for his crimes.

I have been so curious about the man in the shadows. I have been so hungry to know more about him. I fear his power, and his presence, but I also fear my own desire. I desired him more than I desired anything else, a fact I could not admit even in my own mind.

Hades is a man I know of but never saw. His face did not appear to me. To know it is him who has done this. The God who came from a pit of bile in the Titan’s stomach. A ruthless, cruel and brutal fighter who speaks of just and righteousness but knows not of humanity….

All the things I have known and the stories I've been told swell into my head at once.

This lore was never hidden from me growing up, but it did not seem real—not the way Olympus seemed real. I’d never laid eyes on the realm. For I was not meant for this place and yet he dragged me here. Where my powers mean naught. Why take me as a queen when I am useless here? Why drain me of my light and then throw me into darkness and despair?

How was I to know that the stories would be so much more than stories?

Prophecies are not always made manifest. Fates do change. The Gods swirl their fingers into magic and shift the ways of the world.

But here, in the cold, dark heart of the Underworld, I feel like a child opening her eyes for the first time.

All of it was true. Everything my mother ever told me, every story ever whispered into my ear—it's all true.

And now I will never escape from it.

My sobs overwhelm me. I bury my face in my hands and cry on the rug. My head throbs.

I miss my mother with a palpable ache in my chest. I wish I could hear her voice. I wish I could seek her guidance.

At some point, at the sound of a tinker I raise my eyes and find that a new tray has appeared on the table.

Someone—or the Underworld itself—has provided food. A plate with bread. A bowl with steam rising from it. A red, shiny pomegranate, cracked open with the seeds offering a delightful image.

I do not go to the table and eat. I do not pour water from the pitcher and drink.

I do not even dare to venture back to the bed.

I fear that if I submit in any way, I have lost a game I do not even know the rules to yet.

I sit alone on the rug with my knees drawn up, holding them close to my body for warmth. My tears run down my cheeks and dry in cold streaks. My throat hurts. It's raw from the sobbing and screaming and fits. I sit perfectly still, unwilling to act until I’m provided with more information.

I can think of nothing but how much I miss my mother and Beatrice. My heart aches for them and I pray they do not think I’ve left them of my own accord.

I’m not sure how long it's been when the door to the bedroom opens. With a sharp turn, I face the creak of the hinges.

Hades enters, tall and as calm as ice. Folded over one arm is a blanket. I offer a humorless huff, more than aware that this chill was his intention.

I am no fool and I do not make deals with those who force a bargain that is nothing more than pain and suffering. This is no mercy, this is only his will.

And I refuse it.

I stare at the blanket, my chest aching with how much I wish to be warm, and then I pull my gaze away. Ripping it from the offering definitely.

He moves around the room for a minute or two, his steps eerily patient. I stare down at the tops of my knees, the nape of my neck hot.

The air moves behind me. There is the sound of fabric being rearranged.

I do not turn.

The lights in the room dim. It had not seemed bright to me before, but Hades has taken almost all of the light.

There is an unmistakable sound, a bed groaning with weight.

“Do you wish to join me?” Hades asks, his voice low.

The arrogance inflames a deep hatred in me. He thinks I will lie with him? For the sake of comfort after what he’s done?

I clench my jaw harder to keep my teeth from chattering.

“Fuck you,” I manage.

I’m met with a huff of humor, that seems genuine and the sound of him gaining comfort on the large bed. “If that is your wish.”

My back aches. My knees ache. I’m freezing . I attempt to lean back onto the chaise that sits at the foot of the bed, only to find it is gone.

My eyes narrow and indignant hate brews inside of me. I rest my cheek against the wooden bedpost instead, only to find that it loses its composure and my body falls to the floor rather than allowing the bedpost to keep me upright.

Pain flickers within my heart.

He wishes me no comfort at all of rest unless it is on the floor or in the bed.

I turn back to the rug, and find it is also gone.

“You’re heartless,” I whisper and in return there is nothing. For a bit longer, I sit on the floor in agonizing pain. Not so much physical as it is mental. Attempting to see his moves before my own.

After a shamefully short time, I get to my feet. My steps are unsteady as I approach the bed. I must entertain him to acquire movement in whatever he is playing at.

I only need a little softness. A little warmth. Then I can survive the night.

The heat of Hades’s eyes alone is nearly burning as I climb onto the bed and lower my throbbing head to one of the pillows. My body at a distance from his and the blanket. The silence seems to demand that I speak.

“I do not wish to be here and I do not want to play these games.”

Hades exhales next to me. “You have no choice.”

“I want my powers .”

“You will have those back, my queen. You will be powerful beside me.”

My queen . The words, smooth and true, make hatred brew within me.

“This is how you treat your queen?” I snidely murmur.

“I offer you comfort, you are the one who denies it.”

“Only beside you?”

He is silent for a few moments, and then he says, his tone almost careful, "There are things you do not know."

"I know more than you'd think,” I bite back, very much aware of his doings. He made me weak so he could take me. What a coward he is.

I roll over to my back, my mind reeling, my heart racing, my body tense from trying to stay warm.

The soft edge of the blanket lands across my shoulders, and I can't help myself. I let its warmth fold over me and let myself sink into it with a sigh. I do not pull for more of it.

I mean only to rest enough so that I can fight another day. If my actions can even be defined as fighting.

But my exhaustion wins out. The warmth is too powerful. I drift off almost immediately.

For some time in my sleep, the feeling of being with a God in bed is different. Something I’ve never experienced, something hot and heady. A sensation of warmth and even power flows through me as the dreams turn vivid and I swear a pleasure I cannot place hovers slightly over my sensitized skin.

Never in my existence have I felt such … sensations. Like my surroundings, it’s entirely peculiar and tempting in a way that I’ve not experienced before.

Some time later, I wake up warm and flushed because I’ve rolled closer to Hades in my sleep. He is solid beside me. His body hot and offering a pleasure I’ve taken for granted all my life. His scent wrapped around me, seductive and masculine. Anger at the unconscious act comes quickly enough.

It doesn’t take long before I realize he’s not breathing slowly and evenly, the way he might if he was dreaming.

With a start, I feel his eyes on me and I look up defiantly to meet his gaze.

He peers down at me, and I know the look in his eyes. It’s curiosity and lust. It’s what drew me to his presence in the shadows. My breath hitches.

“You’re a bastard,” I snarl to avoid acknowledging anything else I feel.

Touch me . I have to bite back the words to keep them in my mouth.

I shove at him, but I only succeed in pushing myself away. There isn’t enough space between us. The reality of being a prisoner—being held —being taken floods my mind, filling my lungs with panic and a need to escape that’s more animal than human. It’s nothing like the Gods must feel, and I want to run from myself as badly as I want to run from Hades.

Go, my mind says. Get away. Fight.

That feeling spills through me as heat in my chest and cold in my feet and a strange panic in my arms and legs. I cannot leave. I cannot get up and leave. The chains will never let me go, and I want to be out of its hold. I want to be free.

I pull against the chains on instinct and scream out my rage into the dark and when I look back down at him, Hades, the Unseen, has left me once again, taking the blanket with him.