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)
“And,” says the third, “the underworld will be no more than ash.”
The voice snaps back together. “—with the screams of the souls that once were.”
The ominous foretelling is not what I had hoped for. New fear creeps through me.
I feel it all down my spine. My arms. My legs. The dread does not stop until it has filled every place in my body that is capable of feeling it.
“I will not give her up,” I state. Knowing the pain that will come of me. Perhaps we are all meant for pain.
“We did not say you must give her away.”
“Your words are not clear.”
“You should avoid war, my king,” the Fates say as one. “For the fate of all. War will end us as we know it.”
“How?”
“That is not for you to know. It simply must be.”
My anger rises again like a flame that will never be extinguished. It is useless. “I want to fight for her, to protect her, to keep her.”
“If you fight to keep her, you are not the only one who will perish.”
“What must I do then?”
“Meet with Zeus, it is the start of her destiny. Offer her the seeds of the Underworld. You may tempt her with them but she must consume them of her own will.”
“And what will come of the meeting?”
“Demands and anger. Threats and betrayals.”
A grunt leaves me. “What do I leverage? What can I offer? Give me something, I beg of you. You see the path to what I desire.”
“You must release, what you resist will persist. You must allow Persephone to rule her fate and only then may she choose you.”
“I will not let her go.”
“It will not be your call, My Lord. You must offer her the seeds, you must allow the future to unfold without your control.”
A furious rage consumes me. “Do nothing but give her seeds? That is your will?” I question with a trembling tone that darkens the room. “There is no point then in discussing matters with Zeus.”
“You must or she will die.”
My throat is dry with their tellings.
“If you fail in any of these ways, she will die.”
“Do not resist, release, and allow her to follow her fate. You prayed for a queen to stand beside you, she will enter fires of her own making. She must become what you have both asked her to be.”
“And what can I do!?” I scream the question feeling lost without actionable cause.
“You will bring her here in the coming days, only then will we provide you the seeds of the Underworld.”
The Fates echo in unison, “What you resist will persist. Tempt her with the seeds and allow fate to unfold, without your control.”
And with that, the light closes around me and I’m left in the cold darkness of the forest, with little but anger and doubt that fuels a thunderous scream to billow from me.
PERSEPHONE
Iknow not much of my powers here. Only that growing new life from naught is futile. She tells me I have more power than I know and perhaps it is because there is something in this realm that I have a gift for, and I do not know of it yet. I’m reminded of my mother who was told of my powers, teaching me. Was she told more? Does she know? Does anyone know? The Fates did not prepare me for this and I wonder if they play with the threads of Gods.
Sylvie sits across from me at the old oak table in the corner of the room, various materials gathered in front of her in a neat row. I have my own collection before me. We’re making witches’ ladders in the light of the window. Yarn. Feathers. Both came from a small wicker basket Silvie carried in with her this morning. She says it’s her favorite thing to do. To weave like the Fates, spells of wishes and protection.
I wish to know my powers here. To know what is possible, to know where my powers lay in this realm… I wish to be my highest self and earn the title of Queen of the Dead if I must stay here.
I concentrate on another knot. Another feather. We have been working in silence, because Silvie made clear that some silence was required. Concentration, really. In order for this work to have any power, it must be done with intention, with emotion and with the power within.
My intentions are not simple.
Be stronger than anyone who prays for me to bend to their will, I think, and tie another knot.
Be more powerful than I can imagine, I think, and add another feather. So powerful no one would ever dare harm me.
Discover every bit of magic I can bend to my will so that I may rule myself and no God can force otherwise, I think, again and again.