Where are you, little one?

She didn't know where she was and she didn't know who she was, either. Her hands gripped at rough earth, shards of glass scraping her palms. The smell of rust, of blood. A strangled noise escaped her, body collapsing back to the ground as she tried to lift herself up. Was she dead? Where was she? Who was she?

When she called for help, her voice broken. It hadn't been used in thousands of years, how could she possibly scream the way she wanted to? Somewhere in the distance, she heard a river running, the sound so eerily familiar her body ached all the more. If only she could make it to the river, the ferry at its bank. It meant refuge, it meant help, it meant knowing.

Where are you, little one?

The woman's voice was warm, soft, feral. Shaking, she huddled farther into the earth, trying to hide in the shadows of the rocks. She did not know this woman, and yet she did. This woman meant fear, she meant salvation. She did not like the idea of salvation, even if knowing was something that came with it. She didn't want to take that ferry towards the woman, but rather away.

She wanted the sun, not the dark.

Grabbing at the floor before her, she began to crawl, dragging what felt like broken limbs towards the only source of light she could find, even if it was the light of fire. Do not find me, she thought helplessly. Do not find me…

Little one…?

No, she whispered. No…

"Violet!"

"No!" She shot up in bed, smacking the hands away from her shoulders, gasping for air. In tizzy, she clutched the necklace around her throat for salvation.

Blue eyes looked at her widely, a young face and worry. "Violet?" he asked.

"Oh, Danny," Violet whispered, reaching out to smooth his honeyed hair from him forehead. "I'm so sorry."

"Another nightmare?" the young boy asked, helping her stand on shaky feet, head in the direction of the bathroom across the hall. Her bedroom spun around her, the yellow walls too bright in the morning sun. The rocking chair in the corner was swaying in the wind from her open window, creaking loudly– God that hurt her head.

The nightmares had been happening for nearly a week straight now, each morning making the physical toll worse and worse.

She nodded in answer to her younger brother, Danny, biting her lip. "It hurt more, this time." Violet wasn't ignorant to lucid dreams– she'd had them all her life. But these dreams were…different. Where all the others had felt like memories, sick sense of dejá vu, these were more now than past. It felt as if she were in the moment, no longer looking back.

Danny helped her sit down on the edge of the chipped porcelain bathtub. The tiled floor was also chipped, as was the sink. The toilet handle was broken, much like the stove's handles downstairs. There were cracks in the plaster walls here and there throughout the home, water stains on the ceilings. Their modest Boston townhouse wasn't in shambles, but it certainly needed repairs. Ones they couldn't afford between doctors' bills and student loans payments and groceries.

Violet flicked on the faucet to the tub with a sigh, water rushing out as the pipes groaned in protest from the ancient heater in the basement. She knew from experience it took a good five minutes for the water to warm before she could turn the showerhead on.

"You want some aspirin, carrot top?" Danny asked, already moving to the medicine cabinet above the sink.

Violet stuck her tongue out at him for the nickname, but accepted the pills all the same. When she had been younger, before puberty, her hair had been a wild red. Over the years it had faded to a soft strawberry blonde, yet Danny still insisted on calling her by the nickname their father had given her so long ago.

"Study your chemistry yet?" she asked, swallowing the aspirin dry, hoping they'd quickly cure the insetting headache from the nightmare.

Danny grimaced. "Uh…yeah."

"Nice try," she grinned, turning the shower on with the flip of a stopper. "Go get some breakfast and study."

"But it isn't fair!" Danny moaned. "This is devil worship, having school in the summer of all times."

"Should have thought of that before you failed the course, Danny," Violet said, making a soft tsking sound as she let her hair loose from the bun she'd tied it into before going to bed last night. Thick curls bounced around her shoulders, down her back. "Besides, you're not the only one with summer classes in the house, remember? Now go, study before you have to take the class a third time."

"Should I wake up Mom?" Danny asked. The siblings glanced down the hall in unison at that, hearing the soft sounds of their mother's snoring. Violet imagined drool on her mother's pillows, knowing she'd have to wash the cases for a second time this week. "Violet?"

She shook her head, staved the impending resentment off. "It was a Tuesday last night…she won't be in a good mood."

Their father had died on a Tuesday. And though the incident had happened nearly eight years ago, their mother still hadn't gotten over it. She nursed her broken heart with a bottle at first, sobbed the rest of her life away and barely took care of her own kids. Except for those rare days when she was Mom again, and Danny fell for the loving bit right away. Violet was more guarded to it by now; though she knew her mother was sincere on those days, she also knew the depression was just waiting around the corner.

It'd been slow to take at first, their mother trying her hardest to support two children on her own. But by the time Violet was fifteen, Danny ten, their mother had all but given up. She had lost her job and lived off children's aid and the small amount of life insurance their father had left and his military bonds, but it wasn't enough. Not when Violet and Danny were growing out of their clothes every other month, always hungry because of it. Violet had supported them since then, bringing in extra money to pay excess pills, like groceries and clothes and medical for Danny's continuing asthma problems…

With another tsk of the tongue, she shooed Danny away on a promise to quiz him before they left the house for the day. Locked the door behind him and stripped off her sweaty pajamas, fingers her necklace softly, trying to calm herself down with the thought of Grams and all the pretty roses in her garden...

The shower water was lukewarm at best, making her exhale shakily as she reached a hand out against the wall. Ugly red lines stared back at her.

Violet wasn't one to express her fears, her anxieties. There was something inside of her that had always said to hold them in, that it was wrong to let them out just like the rest of her was wrong. Didn't fit. Nearly twenty-one years of pent-up emotions had caused her to wage war on herself. She slipped her fingers across the gouges on her ribs, the insides of her thighs. Disgusted was too light a word for how she felt about herself. Things were never enough, she wasn't enough. She wasn't her. She didn't know who she was…

Where are you little one?

Her head reeled, flashes of a dark cave and lips the color of blood. She gagged, a sweet taste in the back of her throat. Dry-heaving wasn't unknown to her– it was something akin to her self-induced harm, but today it was different. She coughed, what felt like blood in her mouth but it was tart and sour. She spit into the tub, and there was nothing.

Persephone…

Staggering, she slunk down against the wall, vision tunneling. "Shit," she cursed, grabbing at the porcelain sides around her, trying to keep straight. Memories flashed before her, but they couldn't be memories. It was a life she never lived. (Black eyes an acrid ache whispered anguish spirits hands running down her arms juice dripping from her mouth an eternity in the darkness.)

"What…"

Someone grabbed her hand, a phantom of lips on her knuckles. Persephone… Her head shook violently, fingers running through the damp curls of her hair, wiping off the kiss. Maybe it was some kind of madness from sleep deprivation. When having lucid dreams the body never really achieved REM, so it only made sense that she'd be a bit whacko, even more so than usual anyway.

Running a hand over her face, she finished washing herself and shut off the shower, stepping out and grabbing a towel from the wrack to wrap it around herself. She staggered to the mirror, wiping away the steam. Leaf green eyes stared back at her, freckles spattered across her nose. She blinked– the girl in the mirror had no life to her. Pale skin, chapped lips, shapeless limbs to a torn-apart body.

Violet grimaced, brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair. Put on some makeup, walked back to her room to change into a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, an oversized jacket. She'd long ago learned that people didn't take too kindly to the scars on her arms. It was like being an addict, needle marks replaced with razor blades. She didn't even know why she did it in the first place, never really felt much pain– high tolerance– but God the blood, the red of it like something she'd known so long ago, tart and damning…

It was supposed to be hot today, the news calling for a heat wave the rest of the week. Violet looked at the pots placed throughout her room, flowers and plants of various shades. For a moment she wondered if they'd be safe in a house with no air conditioning, and then she gasped with realization. Oh, she frowned, tiptoeing over to her windowsill. Outside was a small flowerbox her father had attached to the window when she was young, filled with larkspur and daffodils and wild mint leaves.

She ran her fingers over the soft plants, stems seeming to perk up at her touch. To say she had a green thumb was an understatement, one thing Violet had always liked about herself. For a moment she just continued to touch the plants, and then ducked back into her bedroom and grabbed one of the many half-drank water bottles from around her bed, pouring it over the flowerbox with a sigh. They needed shade, not water.

Violet really hoped they wouldn't die before she got home that night.

Quietly, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen. Danny was sitting at the table, a bowl of fruity pebbles and a cup of orange juice in front of him. "You want me to make you some eggs or something?" Violet asked, grabbing a Greek yogurt from the fridge. Fruity of course– the regular stuff tasted like curdled milk if you asked her.

"Nah," Danny said. She gave him a look. "If you're worried about my protein consumption I've already had some peanut butter toast."

Violet shook her head, grabbing a packet of oatmeal from the cupboard and mixing it into the yogurt. She took a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and smashed it in too, for good measure. In a way she envied her little brother, who could eat whatever he wanted and not gain an ounce. That wasn't the case for Violet, who'd tortured her body in cycles of bad habit since puberty. Maybe she was destined to be round– and it wasn't like body type bothered her in the end of it– but more than anything she just wanted to disappear, crawl out of her own skin because nothing felt right at all.

Sighing, she checked on the herbs in the kitchen windowsill, running her fingers over them. The rosemary was her favorite, scent cloaking the room as she touched it.

A loud whistling startled her, the family's old cat Galinthias jumping onto the counter with a thudded mrow. "Heated up the kettle for you," Danny said, as Violet took the tea pot off the stove and filled a mug with hot water. She twiddled with the broken stove handles to turn it off; added in a packet of chai tea and a bit of milk. Galinthias whined, the damn cat always trying to get at anything with lactose in it.

"Thanks," Violet said, taking tiny bites out of her breakfast. "So, you know the difference between covalent and ionic?"

"Ionic is sharing and covalent is transfer?" Danny asked, slurping the leftover milk from his cereal noisily.

"Switch them," Violet said, covering half of her breakfast with aluminum foil when she noticed what time it was. They were going to be late if they didn't leave now, and she wouldn't have Danny earning anymore tardies on his resume, especially not in summer school. "Covalent has co in it, which means sharing, okay? Like codependent, y'know? The atoms share electrons– they're codependent on each other, covalent."

She grabbed her backpack from the living room, and Danny grabbed his from by the front door. Galinthias whined and Violet reached down to scratch her behind the ears. "Guard the house, cat," she said, stuffing on her battered docs.

She and Danny headed out, locking the door behind them as Violet explained, "Ionic bonds transfer electrons, like I– they only want the electrons for themselves."

"Okay," said Danny, blinking as the neurons in his head tried to connect all of Violet's lecturing together. The two of them turned the corner onto one of the busier streets of middle Boston. The bus stop was only half a block in front of them, so their pace was leisurely since the MBTA wasn't there yet. "But what about organic bonding?"

Violet laughed. "You're on your own there, buddy. When I took chemistry organic was for the advanced kids."

"Says miss honor student," Danny said, sticking his tongue out at her as they reached the bus stop.

"Got your inhaler?" Violet asked, forgoing his childishness.

"Yeah," said Danny, sitting down on the bus stop's bench, Violet quick to join him.

"Good." She fished through her bag for a couple of crumpled bills as the MBTA pulled around the corner. "Lunch money," she said, handing it to Danny. His classes– chemistry and the mandatory health class he'd skipped last semester in favor of woodshop– lasted from eight in the morning to one in the afternoon, and afterwards he and his friends usually went to a gas station nearby and bought lunch to eat at the park. Violet always made sure he had enough to get what he wanted. "At least get a sandwich with the Hoho's today, okay?"

"You know I hate it when you read my receipts," Danny sighed, taking the money from her.

"And you know I hate it when you come home with a dying sugar buzz."

Danny made a snippy remark, trying to mock her voice. Violet was about to playfully shove him when suddenly the splitting headache from the shower came back. She grabbed her head, vision swimming. If she hadn't already been sitting, she may have fallen.

"Violet?"

Rationally, she knew it was Danny saying her name, but it wasn't him she was seeing anymore.

What's happening to me?

The world buzzed, and suddenly she saw flames, blue and licking at her feet. Tartarus. But she wasn't meant for here. She turned, long hair flowing against her shoulders as she looked at the towering castle in the distance. It was made from ebony, from broken souls. She wasn't meant for there, either. At least, not in her opinion.

Little one, where are you?

Violet convulsed on the bus bench, Danny grabbing at her, calling out for help. Onlookers stared, the bus pulling up in front of them, doors opening. "She okay?" the driver asked, aging face pulled into a worried frown.

"I don't know!" Danny said, shaking his sister desperately. "Violet, snap out of it!"

She felt as if she wasn't whole, as if this realm had torn her to shreds. Persephone… She backed away from the blue flames of the river, towards the castle, the river with the ferryman who could take her back. Her chiton wrapped around her sweating skin, hot and strangling. She wanted to go home.

He wanted to make her forget such a place.

Little one, where are you…?

She stumbled over the jagged ground, cuts in the souls of her feet, blood of fruit staining her lips. Hades, she whispered, closing her eyes against the onslaught of memory.

"Hades…" she mumbled, Danny's eyebrows pulling together in concern.

"Violet," he begged. It had only been a few seconds since the bus had pulled up, but he felt as if his sister was lost in eternity.

Little one?

She turned, face to face with a feral beauty like nothing she had ever seen, someone she had looked at a million times before. The woman's features were exotic, dark hair twirling around her in waves, eyes glowing silver-green in the flame's light. She spoke with the voice of three, with magic and familiarity.

There you are, she smiled, reaching out to touch. Oh, thank the Gods; finally you are back, my Queen.

Hands brushed her flesh, skimming to her heart. The woman smiled again, giving her a soft shove…

Violet gasped for air, leaning heavily against Danny and coughing. Her heart felt as if it had stuttered to new life.

It took her a moment to realize she was still at the bus stop, people staring. "Miss?" asked the bus driver. "Should I call an ambulance?"

Violet shook her head rapidly, grabbing at Danny's shirt to keep her upright. He was grabbing at her right back, terrified. "No, no," she said, standing on her feet with a shaky wobble. "I– I'm fine."

"Violet," Danny said, tone uncertain.

"C'mon," she said, watching as the small crowd that had formed began to disperse now that there was no calamity to draw their eye. "We're gonna be late."

Violet dragged Danny onto the bus, taking a seat in the back. The bus driver glanced at them through the rearview mirror; she looked away. "What was that?" Danny asked, and Violet shook him off.

She touched her chest where the woman had shoved her, just below where the charm of her necklace sat, losing breath when she felt the bruises there, looking down to find a formed hand print above her heart which beat in rapid anticipation of the unknown. Yeah really, she thought in awestruck. What was that?

Back in the depths of Logan Fairgrave's house, Hecate wrote the girl's name on the palm of her slashed hand, blood coagulating in the bowl below her. Violet Porter. She glanced around the room that served as her private chambers, stones cast in a circle, herbs tied in burning bundles on the altar. There was a pomegranate cut in half there, juice dripping its crimson glowed that smelled of bitter longing and lost love.

Hecate smiled.

How pleased her Lord would be to hear that she had finally found his Queen.