by elda lore
“You’re…you’re a beast.” I turned on him, not caring who heard us, if there was anyone around to hear us. “I hate you.”
His lips twisted at first and then that strange blue flattened before curling into a closed mouth smile. Evil, that’s what he looked like. Evil incarnate.
“You just might fit in after all,” he whispered, shaking his head in disappointment. “Hate isn’t a sin, but it’s cruel all the same.”
Ignoring his admonishment, I huffed while I brushed past him and headed for the elevator and my prison cell above.
Level One:
Pride
[Hades]
Her words hurt me. Stunned by her reaction, I questioned more so my own. My heart pinched at the verbal assault. Hate wasn’t a sin, as I told her, but its strength sucker-punched all the same. I tried to be nice, I thought, allowing her any clothes she needed. Letting her pick out new shoes. Taking the medicines to heal her feet. But she hated me? She acted like a spoiled child as she slung those words at me, and confusion struck. Where was that beautiful girl frolicking in the river? Where was the laughter floating through my room? Didn’t she see I’d do anything for her?
Suddenly angry myself, I followed her in brooding silence. I didn’t need her approval. I was the son of Hades. We ruled the underworld. We owned this glorious resort. I had everything I’d ever need. Thousands of women were at my disposal for a variety of nefarious experiences. I’d already done and seen and tasted the delights of many, so why this girl had me in knots was beyond me. She wasn’t even my kind. Not my type, but my kind. She was human. She was alive, and I was…dead. For all intents and purposes, I did not live like she did. I breathed. I ate, drank, and slept. But I did not wander day and rest at night. The sunlight burned me and the heat oppressed. My skin resulted from the combination of my mother and my father, and its pallor was considered beautiful among my people. Dead people. People that had crossed into another realm and lived in a simultaneous world of which we were aware of humans, but they were not conscious of us.
Persephone and I rode the elevator upward in silence and entered my room with eerie quiet. She slumped down on the bed, staring at her silver-covered feet, and I realized she hadn’t complained once over the cuts on her appendages. Having no need for healing agents, I hadn’t thought to care for her in the two nights she’d been present. My irritation cracked. I didn’t understand physical pain, but I knew it was powerful. Her lack of complaint proved she was strong. Or stubborn. Kneeling before her, I hesitantly reached for her ankle. My eyes remained lowered, submissive to her will. If she refused my care, I’d leave her alone. I removed the shoe and placed her foot on my thigh. When she didn’t flinch, I twisted off the cap from an ointment, and squirted the gel onto my fingers. Massaging over the thick pad of her foot, I was careful to use the tips of my fingers and avoid my heavy nails grazing the injured skin. My blunt-cut claws could cut her like a knife. Her toes wiggled and her foot flinched. I stilled.
“That tickles,” she said softly, her eyes focused on my hand wrapped around her ankle.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, not understanding the concept of tickles.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and I looked up at her. Her eyes avoided mine, but I stared at her face. “You’re trying to be nice, although I don’t know why if I’m your prisoner. And I’m being rude. Thank you for the clothing and the care to my feet.” Her shoulders slumped and her fingers twisted together in her lap.
What was happening inside me? My forehead wrinkled. I didn’t understand. Her words did something to me. My heart ticked louder. My hand loosened on her ankle and massaged down to her foot again. The need to continue touching her so great, it was like a manacle on my wrist, binding me to her.
“Okay,” I muttered, as I sensed she awaited a response from me.
“Okay, you forgive me?”
My head cocked. Forgive her? Forgiveness. Is that what I felt? The pain from her harsh words of hatred washed out of me. She apologized. She wanted my forgiveness. I wasn’t asked for that often. In fact, many damned me instead. And yet, I wanted her to forgive me, too. The relief inside my chest that she gave me with an apology was what I wished to share with her. I was sorry for how things had gone with my father. It wasn’t my intention to keep her as ransom. I only meant to introduce her to him. I didn’t have a plan for what would happen after that.
“Yes, I forgive you.”
She nodded once, forcing a limp smile, and my head dipped to concentrate on mending her feet. But a genuine grin cracked my lips.
--
My space included a large bed under a domed ceiling, an extra-long couch running the length of a wall facing the window, and a circular table in the corner with two seats. The table rotated between place for dining and studying. I’d long since surpassed all grades of school. As my body appeared twenty-three, the reality of my age was much greater. Still, I liked to learn new things and improve my knowledge over each new era.
Dinner was served to me by my butler, Henrich. An interesting chap, as he called himself, he grew up in Britain, but studied ancient history. While he earned a choice between heaven or hell, he selected the underworld out of curiosity. He admitted his fascination with the concept of hell and wished to study our lair. After a few decades here, I believe he no longer remained intrigued.
My food was set on the table and I hesitated. My father mentioned rules. One of which included, if Persephone ate of our food, she would remain her for eternity. With her strong desire to return home, I felt it only fair to warn her of this stipulation.
“Dinner is served. However, there is one issue.” I swallowed hard knowing this information could spark another onset of tears. Her head turned toward me. She’d been sitting on the couch most of the day, knees bend and toes curled into the cushions. Her focus directed at the covered window. She slowly acclimated to night being her day which meant daylight hours were our night.
“I’m not hungry,” she muttered, combing fingers through her blonde hair. The locks parted and filtered through those delicate digits and I wondered for the millionth time at their softness. I’d brushed my lips over those golden tresses, but my fingers itched to spread through the brilliant color and wrap tendrils around my fist.
“You aren’t allowed to eat our food, anyway.” The statement travelled harshly across the room in response to her words. Her head spun in my direction.
“What?”
“If you eat food prepared here, you’ll be bound here for eternity.”
“So you plan to starve me? Then I’ll be here for eternity anyway,” she snipped. Rotating her head away from me, her fingers covered her forehead, no longer lazily parting her hair.
“I’ll have to think of something,” I muttered. Killing her was definitely not the plan. Starvation would be a painful death. Knowing I needed sustenance myself, I sat to eat.
“What is that anyway?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. She unfolded herself and stood slowly, approaching the table. Her nose crinkled again. “That fish is burnt. And is that a plate of stinging nettle?”
My eyes travelled to the plate. The fish wasn’t burnt, it was blackened. Charred actually, like I liked it and the mixed greens did include stinging nettle, a food dangerous to humans unless prepared properly.
“This meal is rather healthy,” I admonished. She snorted.
“For a dead guy.” Her words bit again. Her tongue was sharp as the point of my knife. I wanted to offer her a taste, but if she bit, she’d be trapped forever, and while I didn’t wish for her to go, I didn’t want her to be here against her will any more than she was already.
“I need to keep up my manly physique,” I countered.
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No.” My head snapped up to hers. “Was that funny?” I didn’t really understand humor. There wasn’t much humorous about being born a dead man. My head tilted. She shook her head in disgust at my food and we stared at one another.
“Why don’t you sit with me while I eat?” Dining tended to be a time of conversation and I often ate among the residents of the underworld. She sat slowly, folding into the seat across from me. Her eyes didn’t leave my plate and my own appetite waned.
“Tell me about yourself,” I asked.
“This isn’t a date,” she snipped. My fork dangled from my fingers. I’d never officially been on a date in modern terms. I didn’t need to. The community of the underworld mixed and mingled, and desires were fulfilled at will. If I wanted a woman, I asked her to give herself to me.
“Have you been on many?”
Her head shot up, but her eyes immediately shifted away from mine.
“Well, not exactly. I mean, I’ve been to on a few and went to dances in high school.” Her tone somber, her shoulders slunk. She shook her head, but mine quickly looked up in question.
“How old are you?” My breath held. Had I kidnapped a child?
“Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one,” I choked.
“What’s wrong with twenty-one?” She snapped, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing. I just…I just thought you were older, that’s all.”
“I should be at school. I have college classes I’m missing.” She swiped a hand through her hair. “I attend the UNW until I have some requirements complete. Then I want to get out of here.”
It was September. The clock tattoo on my chest told me so. Nine. Twenty. Almost Fall Solstice. I hadn’t actually thought about her life outside of the nights I observed her in the river. I set my fork down. Rubbing my hands on my jean-clad thighs, I sighed. I couldn’t keep apologizing. I’d saved her from something worse, I reminded myself. That man would have done terrible things to her.
“I’m not sorry you’re here,” I said softly, my eyes avoiding her weighing ones, but I refused to look up. Instead, I took my fork in hand and returned to eating.
Mina interrupted our silence when she entered the room, pushing a rack of clothing with a display of shoes below. She pushed it straight to my extra-large closet then walked back out of the room without a word.
“What’s that?” Persephone asked with intrigued eyes.
“Clothing.”
Mina returned without knocking, wheeling a small chest of drawers. Without looking up, I recalled what fabrics lay inside. Persephone stood and followed the chest of drawers with her eyes. Mina walked through the space one more time and returned carrying a large wooden box in her arms. She paused to look at me and my head nodded toward the closet. Persephone’s sudden curiosity pleased me and I stood to guide her into the dressing space after Mina’s exit. A three-way mirror stood inside the closet, like a personal fitting room. My limited wardrobe hung along one short wall. The rack of clothing suddenly took up the expanse of the larger wall.
Persephone stepped near the rack and shifted through clothing. Her eyes met mine.
“For me?” Her brow pinched and she returned to the clothes. Taking one hanger off the rack, she stood before the mirror holding up a white dress. The bodice was lace. The remainder floor length. It wasn’t a toga, but it was long and elegant. She pulled the skirt wide and let the silky fabric flow back to her hip.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered to the reflecting glass.
“You are,” I choked behind her, coughing a little to hide the compliment that escaped without my control. Her eyes met mine in the reflection, dark bark freezing my icy blues. My breath caught at the thought of her wearing such a dress. She would look like a firefly amongst the black shades of the underworld.
“Why did you do this?”
“I heard girls like pretty things. I wanted you to be comfortable. Three jeans, two T-shirts and a sweater aren’t enough. I can give you anything you’d like.” Pride filled my tone at the fact. She would want for nothing while she stayed with me.
“What’s in the drawers?”
I nodded for her to peek. Persephone drew open a draw, reached inside and pulled out a flimsy strap of fabric. Silky and sheer, female delicates, Mina called them. Women liked to feel pretty underneath their clothes, she explained, so I had her order a variety of items for Persephone’s comfort. She held the scrap of fabric between two hands.
“Are you expecting me to wear this for you?” Her voice lowered, fear in her eyes.
“No. I’d like you to wear them for you. To make you feel beautiful. Only the prettiest things should be against your skin.” Her normally tanned face turned a deep shade of pink, matching bright peonies I’d once seen. My breath hitched at the shift in her skin color, and I sucked in air, choking again. My lower region stirred. My jeans strained.
She replaced the intimate apparel and delicately closed the drawer. Her hands reached for the smaller box above then retracted. She looked at me and I smiled slowly. I nodded approval and she opened the top of the container. Soft petals of music escaped while the inside gleamed with bands of silver and gold, jeweled rings, and baubles for her ears. Her fingers picked up one such band and slid it over her wrist. She twisted her arm to inspect the bead.
“It’s so pretty,” she said softly, flipping the item over and over. I stepped closer. She’d selected a silver bangle with a black onyx gem shaped like a butterfly. Holding it up for the slight light around the mirror, the stone glistened with tones of blue. It seemed dark compared to the rubies and diamonds inside the chest. Her fingers tenderly brushed tenderly the outline of the stone.
“Why did you pick that one?”
“It reminds me of you.”
Vanity
[Persephone]
Giving me things didn’t endear me to him. I had no desire for fancy clothing or expensive jewels, but several things struck me about his offerings. First, the fact he called me beautiful made my heart race and I curled my toes beneath the dress as a tickle of excitement traveled up my inner thighs and fluttered in my lower abdomen. The flittering sensation turned to a pulsing beat and I clenched my thighs to repress it. The flutters strengthen and my breasts tingled. My body prickled with the need for him to touch me. I wanted to hate him. I should hate him, but I didn’t. He kept surprising me.
I’m not sorry you’re here.
My heart stopped beating. No one had ever said such a thing to me, in that tone which matched water rippling over low river rocks.
I also noted his desire to please me. He wanted me to be comfortable and his presentation of clothing and underthings proved he wished to treat me as a guest rather than a prisoner. I ignored the question of why, that lingered in my head. I had no need for such feminine things, like the lacy underwear. If I wore the thong, I’d feel dirty. And sexy. And sinful. My nana said vanity led to sin. I considered my appearance good enough and didn’t long for the finer things. But that white dress was stunning, and just for a moment I imagined myself wearing it opposite him. We’d be dancing and he would kiss me. I set the hanger back on the rack, cutting short the fantasy.
The smaller wooden casement tempted me. Intricately engraved, I hesitated as if it might burn me before I touched it, but my curiosity begged his approval. His face lightened, the blue tint not quite so radiant, when he nodded with encouragement. I opened the box to a pirouette of sound, metallic and feminine. It floated around me, swirling like a dancer. The melodic song called out to me and my hands drew forward to take what I pleased from within. I noticed the silver bangle with the intriguing black charm first. Slipping it over my wrist, I traced the outline of the bead, distinguishing the shape to be that of a butterfly. While solid onyx, the flat, cool stone shone with hints of blues and purples in the dim light of the dressing room. I twirled my wrist to watch the light dancing off the gem.
“Why did you pick that one?” he’d asked, evidently puzzled that I didn’t go for the lighter colored diamonds or the vibrant rubies.
“It reminds me of you,” I blurted without thought. Just like him, this solid stone stood formal and firm, but the ethereal tones of blue glistened like his skin. The cool gem reminding me of his
less-than-warm skin. He reached out a pointed finger at the dangling charm, pushing ever so gently against it. As it brushed back to my wrist, a tickle occurred and I flinched at the odd sensation. A giggle escaped my lips. I twisted my wrist, balancing the charm to perch on my vein.
The wings flapped once.
I must be dreaming. I blinked to clear my eyes.
The wings fluttered again.
My mouth fell into a breathy O-shape, but no air escaped. I slowly rotated my arm and let the charm fall. The butterfly flittered under my arm, floating in space, but not struggling to escape. How could something so rigid be so delicate?
“How did you do that?” I finally exhaled, staring in wonder at the magical charm flying in place under my wrist.
He shrugged a shoulder in response, his eyes still trained on the dancing creature.
“Will I hurt it?” I whispered as if the butterfly could hear my concern.
“I doubt you’d ever hurt anything.” His reply was earnest and sincere. He credited me too much. My disappearance pained my family, but I let my mind close off thoughts of them as I wondered again at this mythical place.
The Underworld, as he called it, frightened and excited me. Magically, in some ways, I didn’t understand why my family’s land could be so important to his. With hints of fantastical power among Hades and his father, it seemed they could have anything they wanted, wherever they wanted, so why here? Why my family? My land?