Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“I wish for Persephone,” I growl, and then I cannot stop. “If war is what must happen, I will meet it. I will not live without her.”
A scream of pure fury, pure rage shakes my teeth. My throat cannot possibly sustain it, but it does. My anger is too deep, too raw, never-ending. Until she is back in my arms.
Zeus will not win. And if he wins, as the Fates seem to think he will, then it will be an empty victory, because there will be nothing left for him to claim.
I move through the cavern like a whirlwind, destroying every soul that crosses my path. There is not enough blood in all the Underworld to satisfy me. There is certainly not enough in these caverns, so when I find myself at an exit, I leave.
But I will not stop. I cannot stop. Every time my mind grasps for calm, a memory of Persephone resurfaces. Persephone, ill and afraid on the rug in my rooms. Persephone, sated and pleasured in my bed. Persephone, beside me at court, looking upon the souls to be judged with empathy and care.
Persephone, looking back at me as she left. As she left me.
Regret is a horrid thing.
These memories are so painful in her absence that others force their way into my mind. I do not want to think of my years of torturous isolation, but each one of them plays out in my thoughts. The hopelessness. The dark. The knowledge that I would never be free.
No one gave me mercy. No one could understand. I didn’t know that what I needed was love until I had it and then lost it.
Before her, nothing mattered. There was no one to miss me. No one to wait for my return home. No one to love me.
No one to touch me.
There is no one here to touch me anymore. Not the way she did.
I rage through the Underworld, screaming her name, ripping and tearing. Biting and clawing. Destroying and destroying and destroying. Hundreds of souls. Multitudes.
I cover the entire Underworld in a layer of ash.
I have been burned to the ground. Imbalance is what Demeter wanted, and I will level it all, death will be her legacy as well. Unless Persephone returns to me, all that will exist is death. So mote it be.
Persephone
My father’s face twists as my words sink in. The confession of the seeds, the taste of which still linger on my lips. His mouth curls downward, and the rest of his expression follows suit—
But only for a split second.
He manages to change it to confusion, his eyes going wide. My father shakes his head, as if in disbelief.
Is he going to make me repeat what I just said? I ate the seeds.
I will if he requires. What is done is done and I will face the consequences. Whatever that may be.
My mind drifts to my mother in the silence that follows. The pastures have withered here, a sign that my mother has gone. The muted browns of the field surrounding the towers are pitiful. Death surrounds us. I don’t dare test my magic, not while so many eyes lay on us. But my fingers twitch with the need to bring life back to these halls.
And the need to see my mother. Would she gaze upon me with horror and shock as my father’s just done.
All over the seeds.
Because of the pomegranates? My heart races, remembering Hades’s plea and Hecate’s reaction. As if she’s aware of my thoughts shifting to her, Hecate disappears from behind me. I do not watch her, but I feel her go. There is an absence in the air, and a slight wind rushes through the hall. My father’s eyes lift from my face, then drop back down.
If he does not speak soon, I will have to continue. I will have to say something. Because more questions are coming into my mind. They are growing like weeds. The only way to pluck them out is to find answers.
“Father,” I begin, but the doors of the main hall slam open with a loud bang. Hastened steps of my mother and her companions fill the room.
“Persephone!” Her tone is strained with desperation. Although she says my name as if it is a prayer.
I turn toward my mother’s voice, my heart swelling, my father’s hands slipping away from me as I do. His fingers brush my back.
My mother.
With a dry throat, I rush forward a few steps, but my mother is already running. She sprints across the shining floor, the skirt of her flowing black dress flying behind her and her arms stretched out to me.
She’s abandoned her green dress for black, for mourning and death.
I barely have time for another step before I collide with her. My mother’s hair falls all around me, tickling my face as she closes her arms tight around my body. We’re so close that I can feel her pounding heart and her fast, unsteady breath.