A/N: Fuck my life.

I.

Once upon a time. . .

I suppose it's not everyday that a young man, specifically a young prince from the world above, would dare to taunt a god. Especially not my husband, who is older and wiser than me, yours truly, but could still be prone to his rageful episodes. Then again, my husband has a remarkable control over himself, but when he snaps, mountains rumble and shake to answer his call. Lesser gods run away from his wrath.

I was in the garden of the dead when I heard a terrible roar of pure anger echoing from the obsidian palaces that is my home. I paused before picking up a hoe and shoving it deep within the pockets of my dress. Dirt didn't dare to mar a single brown streak on my lovely black dress with encrusted tiny diamonds. A grand gift from my husband. A beautiful one.

I rushed to the throne room, entering from the side and lurking behind the two thrones. One mine. One his.

My husband held his fist tightly, anger etched on his handsome face. He viewed a levitating orb, looking into the world above. In it was a handsome boy, his long fingers wrapped around a wand. Beautiful. My lovely sister-in-law would want to take him for her own. Another boy in her harem of men, yet to fully blossom into his true beauty and charm. He gazed coldly down the deceased body of a young girl with spectacles. A foolish girl blessed with wisdom.

"Wizard," he sneered, his lips curling with disgust. "He tries to cheat me. He will die."

I lifted my gaze to the boy. And looked. And understood. Knew every bit of his broken soul, knew his greed, knew the darkness in his heart. It had been decades since I'd judged a soul still living, not yet dead.

"My love. . ." I whispered. "Perhaps, it would be better if I handle this. This matter. Personally."

He raised his head. Turned towards me.

"You wish to give him a second chance?" he asked incredulously.

"The sun will always shines," I told him. "He's young, only nineteen winters, my love. A Horcrux is a life worse than death. He won't understand the consequences until he's much older. I say we give him what he wants."

"Immortality?" My love snorted. "No one can run from me forever. And no one will ever be like us."

"Immorality. . ." I paused, turning away with deliberation. "With a price. A painful, painful price." I stared at the orb once again, looking intently on the red rose clutched in the blessed girl's hands. "He will learn. Mark my words, my love. Of the sorrow of immorality. To life as a monster. Never able to see another day in the sun unless. . ."

My husband, clearly calmed down from his rage, listened with rapture at the sound of my voice. He gestured for me to continue.

I glided towards him, a finger at his lip. "My love. . . Just watch and see." I winked at him. I curtseyed to him in respect, my very appearance changing and morphing as I wished. "Watch, my Lord Hades."

II.

My half-siblings and dear cousins has played this ploy and game for millennia. I myself have used it once. Dress up as a poor, shabby human. . . Or perhaps as an animal. My father, Zeus, is rather fond of animals. But the form I've chosen is of the dead girl's grandmother. Her grandmother has been missing for the last two years, but no one has thought her dead. She was a peculiar witch, loved to wander through the forest of monstrous creatures. She was known to disappear for days, months, and years at a time. In fact, she was pregnant with Myrtle's mother and left for the forest. Came back a year and a half later with a crying child in her arms.

This time, I come in her form. With a curse on my tongue.

For all of his darkness and evilness, the prince does know how to throw a party for esteemed guests. Lucius of the House of Malfoy, for example. . . The Archduke. Well, for all of his titles, gold, and prestige, he would not survive my curse.

Humans, wizards or not, are alike. They bow to the whims of a goddess.

The dark oak doors open without my touch as I enter late into the ballroom. The music slows to a stop. I must be quite a sight in Myrtle's grandmother's form. A crooked back, hooked nose, and a tattered, black coat covered in dark. Nothing of the perfectly crafted dancers in flowy white dresses or the dashing men.

Only one isn't dressed in either white or black. Instead, he's dressed in deep green. Green waistcoat. Handcrafted with care. Expensive taste. His dark hair gleams in the magically lit room. I carefully pick my way towards the prince, every step I take limped.

I point a gnarled finger at the boy. "You," I accuse, anger laced in my voice. Her voice is deep, much deeper than mine. "Where is Myrtle?"

The boy's face forms a perfect mask of innocence. How incredible it is to know that this boy is capable of murder at such a young age. I almost regret not letting my love take him for dead. But no. . . I see something in this boy. I don't know what. Perhaps after all of this has been said and done, I'll know why I gave him a second chance to live.

"Madam, I believe you have the wrong place."

"No." I bellow at him. My arm falls to my side. I'm only six feet away from him. All eyes are upon on, enraptured by the sight. An old hag accusing a beloved, beautiful prince. "Murderer! I know who you are, Prince Marvolo Gaunt."

The boy raises an eyebrow and begins to laugh. "Murderer?" He turns to his sycophants, his followers, his subjects. "Surely this crone belongs to an asylum! The very things that spew out of her mouth, the very groundless accusations she throws at me, this Myrtle she speaks of. . ."

"Do you deny the making of a Horcrux?" I cut, interrupting his foolish lies. "Using my poor granddaughter's death, your first murder, to make a device of such horrible, evil magic!" I'm vaguely aware of the booming sound of thunder that shakes through the very stones of this castle. I forget, sometimes, that I'm Zeus' daughter as well as Demeter's.

At the very word Horcrux, whispers begin. Dark, dark magic. Very few would dare to try it. And even fewer could succeed.

"A Horcrux? I would never dare," he lies.

A dark, black book flies to the marble floor. It flips open, the pages revealing words and thoughts. Then it begins to bleed. . . ink. Just like how blood would flow dangerously from an artery.

"No," he shouts. "Stop!"

Falling to his knees, he screams in pure agony. Pieces of his soul forcibly reunited. I did this to Herpo the Foul as well. He died from the pain, wanting it to end. My love thought it was a death too good for him.

My form shifts, morphing into something else. Something awfully different than Myrtle's grandmother. Not my true form, no. He will die instantly if he witnesses that. My dark hair blossoms behind me as my back straightens.

With sharp black nails, I lift his chin so he looks directly at me. I must be quite a sight. Far different from the old crone I played. A youthful, young woman of the greatest humanly beauty possible. Not a single sign of something divine.

His eyes are bloodshot, and his breaths come raggedly. What a sore sight for a prince.

"Immortality you want, immortality you shall have," I say. Every ear has heard every single sound, every syllable, every word, every phrase I've utter. He is damned. They are all damned.

An expression of confusion spreads over the prince's face.

After a long moment, I smugly add, "With a price."

Second A/N: Yes. I fucking watched Beauty and the Beast. And then watched the fucking trailer for the Tomione version of that. And now I'm fucking writing this even though I have like Tomione fics hanging around. . . Psychology needs to be finished up with like five-ish more parts. Speak of the Devil needs to be edited and revived. . . And there's a fucking WonderBat fanfic calling my name. Shit. I'm also taking two college classes this summer. Fuck this.