Series: Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I stare at my mother, wishing she could understand the fear in me, but knowing that she won’t. She is too convinced that our fates are set in stone, and there is nothing we can do to change them. She believes what she wants to believe. And the universe has never dared to challenge her like it challenges me now.
“Thank you for braiding my hair, mother,” I tell her, and smile, instead of pleading with her to understand.
My mother smiles back at me and smooths my hair with her hand. “Sleep well, and know you are always loved.” She kisses my forehead, and I can feel her love. The bond between us as mother and daughter is still strong, and in it, I feel a spark of power. “Will you come inside with me?”
“A few minutes,” I tell my mother. I want to breathe here in the moonlight and try to build as much of a memory as possible. If I am to become a nymph, I want to remember this garden at night, and sitting on the bench with my mother, and how it felt to have her fingers in my hair.
She rises from the bench next to me and kisses my forehead one more time.
“Everything will be alright, my daughter. You are meant to be my counter. You have power. Know it is so.” Her hand skims my hair, and then I can feel that she is walking away, moving the air as she goes. Her footsteps are soft in the garden but I know when she is gone and I am alone again.
How can I leave Olympus? How can I live somewhere else? How can I accept what is going to happen if none of it was my choice?
I will find a way, somehow. If my mother has reminded me of anything, it’s that. I will find a way, because whether goddess or mortal, that is what is left to us if the fates are decided. We must find our own place in it.
Even if we’re afraid.
And I am afraid.
I keep my eyes closed until I’ve convinced myself more of acceptance, or at least a path to it.
When I open my eyes, there is something new in the moonlight.
I can see it there, and at first I think it may be a trick of the light, my mind convincing me that something is there when it is not. But when I blink, it stays, so I stand from the carved quartz bench and walk toward it, my heart in my throat.
There is something there after all. A small, budded flower peeking above the earth at the end of the row of sunflowers. I bend down and brush my fingers over the dewy petals.
It is real.
A light sparks within me and that small bit of the divine burns in my belly.
My powers are not yet gone. There is still hope. Part of me craves more of it, part of me wishes it would pass and grant me mercy from this torture.
HADES
My andron is a massive room made from polished obsidian with high ceilings, every inch of it gleaming and black. We head to it now, and every step draws closer an anxiousness for the night to be done with. The energy is exceptional and the power it gives me is undeniable. It will be empty tonight. It’s nearly always vacant unless there is some cause for festivity, or a pertinent meeting that cannot wait for the courts. It is the part of my home that’s farthest from my rooms and closest to the Underworld, the most public place I can be. It is a place reserved for conversations such as these, which I would rather not hold in my private rooms. I want to be able to leave them behind when they are finished, though I know I cannot really force them out of my thoughts.
I go by way of an outside path, choosing to divide myself from my private spaces with a walk. The path is empty, as the andron will be. The ground beneath my feet gleams with the flash of silver, though not as smoothly as the floor of the andron. There is no sound, other than the air that moves in a mimicry of mortal wind. Through the silence, I can hear all of my realms, and the souls, if only I choose to listen.
Silence is mostly preferred these days, when my thoughts are preoccupied with the image of her.
There is no life in the Underworld apart from the souls. Nothing of new life can be made where the dead linger. In Olympus, at the bottom of the ocean where Poseidon rules and even on Earth where there are only heroes and those sent by the Gods for purposes that vary, life can be made. It can be brought forth from the other realms including the Underworld. But the same is not true here. There is a strict tally of souls who come and go and it is balanced and righteous.