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“I am not desperate,” Persephone said, walking to the baskets and throwing it into one. Hopefully one of them would accidentally take it home so she wouldn’t have to explain to Pelops why she had it. Or worse—her mother.
“Not yet, but what if tells you he doesn’t want to marry you? That he’s found someone else and that’s why he hesitated? Or his father has arranged a bride for him. That could very well happen, and then it would be out of Pelops’ hands.” Elektra shrugged, as if everything she had just said wouldn’t completely rock Persephone’s world and send her spiraling into a heartbreak none of them were prepared to handle.
Thankfully, Melia had Persephone’s back, and elbowed Elektra in the side.
But Persephone was already sinking into herself, thinking about all the possible outcomes, all the one’s she hadn’t let herself think before. She had expected something had happened to make him hesitant, but not someone.
What if he had found someone else? What if he’d never seen her as a future wife, at all? Just a place holder until his true bride walked into the picture. Was it possible she had only imagined the deep connection they had? The gut-wrenching, heart-aching love that she felt for him – maybe he didn’t feel it.
Her heart ached for a moment, but almost as quickly as the pain had started, anger boiled inside her. Her face heated with it and her stomach twisted into a tight knot. If he was in love with someone else she would kill him. She would punch him and push him hard enough that he fell over, then she’d kick him and wail on him until he begged her stop. Until he cried for her stop, tears mixing with snot, wetting his face and neck. And she would stop, for a moment, before she found a rock or a tree branch that she could use instead. Something to do more damage than her weak arms could manage on their own. His blood would stain the weapon she wielded, soaking into the dirt beneath him and the grass they’d laid in just yesterday.
He would be unrecognizable.
“Where did you go?” Elektra asked, shaking Persephone’s shoulders, pulling her out of her violent thoughts.
“I—” she cut herself off, looking around. She was halfway up the hill, the pool a distant blue diamond behind her, the large stream split back into it’s thin, individual streams. She’d walked so far she could no longer hear the gurgling of the streams feeding into the pool. “I have to go,” she said, her voice shaking.
She barely heard Elektra’s reply, her farewell, as she scrambled up the hill. She shoved past tree branches and bushes that she didn’t remember being there on her way yesterday, tripping over stones and stumps.
She didn’t realize that feeling of being watched settled over her until it was crawling up her spine, a sharp fear slicing through her that chilled her deep into her bones.
Whoever it was was close, too close, much closer than when she’d previously felt him around the pool. She spun around and around, searching for the man she’d seen in the trees. The man that was not only watching her, but trailing her.
He – it – whatever or whoever it was, was following her. It had really been there by the water. Waiting for her to be alone.
Still drained and exhausted from all the wine, swimming and sunning yesterday, Persephone tried and failed to rally her power again. She had to get out quickly, whoever was out there with her was gaining on her, was near her right at this moment. She didn’t have to see them to know – she could feel the ancient, dark power thrumming through the ground and the trees, even the stones and bushes littering the forest floor trembled.
Clenching her eyes shut, she balled her fists at her sides and burrowed into herself, aiming for the power that felt weak and flimsy compared to whoever was out there. She imagined tearing through the flesh and bone of her rib cage, reaching for her heart and sinking into the power until filled the spaces she had torn away. Until it filled her limbs and her throat; until it rushed past her ears, blocking out the sounds of forest life around her.
Then she was gone. The darkness of the canopied trees replaced with the bright breezy meadow, the grass swaying in the wind she’d brought about as she appeared here.
Behind her closed eyes she could tell the sun had finally dragged itself behind the tree tops, the light of the meadow bright and warm, no longer high enough to scorch her skin or make her lids glow orange.
The calmness of the meadow slowed her heart, stopped it from beating right out of her chest. But something was off. It smelled wrong. There was a tinge on the wind that she couldn’t quite locate, couldn’t picture the flora that brought that horrible scent wafting into the meadow. It was filling her nose, the only smell at all now, rancid and sour.
She coughed, her throat tight as she choked on the smell, as it burned her nose and eyes.
When she finally opened her eyes she fell to the ground, her mouth open in silent agony.
8
THE FAVOUR
Persephone fell to her knees where she stood across the meadow from Pelops’ body. Agony so intense tore through her that she didn’t feel the rocks scattered throughout the grass beneath her as they cut into her flesh. She cupped her mouth with one hand – though she was silent, not even a garbled sob escaping her throat – while the other fingered the ground, steadying her as she sat back onto her ankles.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move.
On some level she realized she should be cautious, should be scoping her surroundings for whatever animal that had done this. It was still nearby, still roaming the forest surrounding her; his blood was wet and shiny in the diminishing light, fresh.
But she couldn’t look away from his lifeless form.
His dark skin leeched of colour, as if the blood pouring out of his body took the glow of his skin with it. His eyes – those beautiful green eyes, were vacantly staring at the sky, glazed and dull.
He was dead.
She didn’t need to go to him to know that he was dead. It was clear enough from her side of the expansive ocean of grass between them. The blood covering his hands, soaking his clothes and matting his hair was indication enough. His torn open neck, most of it missing, leaving a gaping red hole of bone and blood. His chest didn’t expand with breath once while she stared at him.
For hours she stared at him, frozen in place. Long enough that her legs tingled and went numb hours ago, when the sun had long since gone to bed and the moon was high in the sky.
