"I'm pregnant." The words came out of her mouth in the middle of a park. She didn't lower her voice. She didn't say it cautiously. She didn't say it in private, like a lady should have. Which is why the first thing Hades thought when she said this, was that every bystander who was immediately shot her a dark look for saying that in public would definitely go to Tartarus. But then her words echoed into his head, seizing his ideas of torture, and his mouth opened.
"What?" he gruffed. She pulled out her dark-red lipstick casually, taking her time to press it on as Hades debated his next words. When she looked back at him, she showed no sign of fear.
"I am dated to have a baby, my Lord," she repeated, "Your baby." He didn't speak. Instead, he redirected his eye contact down toward his shoes. Oh god, he thought to himself, what have I done? He looked back up at her, flushed. She puckered her lips, shaping her lipstick more formally, but after a long silence she finally looked at him. Her dark brown eyes, which tinted a brownish-red when the sunshine hit them, softened.
"You can't be possibly surprised, Hades," she said, her patience wavering, "We have been lovers for a while. It was going to happen sometime." His mouth opened, but it wasn't the first time that she made him speechless. He could tell by the look in her eyes that his silence was slowly irritating her.
"If this about your wif-"
"This isn't about Persephone!" he snapped defensively, "This about you, my dove. You do not deserve this! You deserve to be happy! Free, as you like to say." Her eyes softened, like a wave of relief clouded over the worries he hadn't seen before.
"I would be honored to have your child, my Lord. As much as you think otherwise, I believe having a child is a gift. And you'll be a wonderful father, I know," she said, stroking his cheek. He looked like he was going to throw up.
"Maria, you don't understand. If we have a child I cannot see you anymore. It will cause havoc," he swore to her. She rolled her large eyes.
"Hades, you are more of a man then to leave me because of a child," she said sharply. He straightened up, towering over her.
"Maria, I can't stay with you at all. I have a life in the Underworld. Now that the gods will know I have a child, it'll be much harder to see you. I cannot be the father you want," he croaked. She had never witnessed so much sadness in him. She clasped her hand on top of his.
"I am not worried, my lord. I understand that you cannot live with me, and I am fine with that. I am an independent woman. I do not need a god to take care of me," she swore to him, smiling sweetly, "But I know that you will be a perfect father, whether you live with us or not." And as Maria opened up her pocket book again, searching for her compact mirror, the Lord of the Dead gave her a grave look. Because he loved her more than he had ever loved any woman, and wasn't sure if he would ever be strong enough to let Maria di Angelo go.
(imagine three dashes)
"Connie, for god's sakes, hold my hand!" Pollux screeched behind her. Beneath the darkness, Connie smirked.
"Afraid of the dark, Pollux?" She mocked. He scuffed.
"As soon as I get my sword back, I'm turning around!" He swore to her. She rolled her eyes. Carefully, she stepped one stair at a time. It was pitch black– the darkest dark she had ever witnessed. At first when she stepped into what Nico called 'the easiest way into the underworld' she thought she was going to die. There were no railings, no way to feel where she was going, and with every step she heard a more terrifying sound. But somehow, within the next thirty minutes, she grew used to it.
"I mean, honestly, I don't understand why he gets his sword, but I don't!" Pollux ranted loudly, "CONNIE! HOLD MY HAND!" She sighed, slowing down her pace. Pollux bumped into her roughly, nearly making her go off the edge, but slowly she found a way to wrap her fingers around his.
"Good?" she asked harshly. He huffed.
"No," he spat, "I think this is a moronic idea Connie!"
"Then go back."
"No!" He bellowed so loudly that his voice echoed back, "Where is our wonderful guide anyways? Because I swear, if he lost my sword-"
"I'm glad your priorities are in order Pollux," Nico drawled. He seemed much farther down then them, yet she could still hear him perfectly.
"I want my sword!" Pollux whined. Nico groaned.
"Look," he said tightly, "I can't let you bring it into the Underworld. My father will throw a fit." She could nearly feel Pollux's anger.
"So? Why should I care about your father?" He continued, "I don't even want to be here." Nico fell into silence again, leaving Connie, once again, alone with the argument.
"It's okay Pollux," she soothed, "Think about it this way: If we survive this, we may make history."
"Percy Jackson did it, so no, we won't make history."
"Well, Percy Jackson isn't me, so I could care less if he makes history," she snapped. She knew Pollux was about to say something, but then a light started to fall in front of them.
"Watch out," Nico said dryly, "It's not the most beautiful sight."
(imagine three dashes)
Nico wasn't exaggerating. If anything, he didn't prepare her at all. Seeing the dead in torture didn't exactly lighten the mood. Even Pollux was in silence as Nico leaded them toward the castle. As the screams beckoned around them, she tried not to think of the prophecy. Of her burning down the Underworld. She wondered, as she stared at Nico, if he was thinking the same thing.
Connie wasn't able to digest the sight of the castle until they were right in front of it. Her mouth opened a bit, realizing that she had never seen anything like it. He managed to budge them into the castle, with no questioning. As she trailed in, her thoughts remained the same: It was like an inverse version of a beautiful mansion. It was still beautiful, but in the sickest way. It was more of a gothic nightmare to the extreme, she added to herself. Other then the fact that the place reeked in creepy-crawlers, the interior was, at the very least, original. The place glittered with black and bronze, with beautifully crafted chandeliers of glowing bones and walls made from cremated heroes-gone-wrong. Nico looked back at her occasionally, as she gasped. Different things amazed her; the beautiful garden that they could see from the East Hall, the occasional twirling steps that went up to a mysterious tower, the whole idea that Hades' palace was Heaven dressed in Hell.
For some odd reason, she didn't see this the last time she came here. How could she have noticed the beautifully crafted hallways? The extraordinary candles that lit the walls? The overall theme that must've taken centuries to create? She wanted to be sickened by all the gruesome ways that Hades created this place, but she could only admire it. It was so creative, so unique, so different.
"My father wants to meet you in the dining hall," Nico said finally, after an hour of silence. He turned around, looking at her harshly. She realized that he wasn't just telling her, but waiting for her objection.
"Only if Pollux comes with me," she said simply. Nico's eyes grew darker, but he gave her a curtly nod and continued to lead the way. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pollux stare at her in amazement. As if he was finally seeing that she had nerve.
Nico stopped at a huge set of black doors. It was at least sixteen feet tall and nearly ten feet wide. Who would need something so big? She wondered to herself. She could see within the black stone, the terrible pictures of torture that Hades had engraved in it. She swallowed thickly, and tugged on Pollux's hand one last time. Nico flickered at her annoyingly. Was that an anxiousness reflecting in his eyes? But it didn't matter, because he turned too quickly for her to analyze it. Taking one last breath, he opened the doors.
(insert dashes here)
She didn't remember being scooted toward her seat. She didn't remember the flickering looks Nico gave her when she found her seat. She didn't remember walking in or her first sight. All she knew was that she was dazzled.
It wasn't like the rest of the castle. Unlike the gothic interior everywhere else, the dining hall created a beautiful angelic setting. Clear crystal silver ware was displayed in front of her – an arrangement of forks and spoons and knives, all ready for her to grip and run. Above her a large chandelier swung, made from a crystal blue stone and an arrangement of light gems. Her eyes lingered on it until she heard coolly, "Should I say welcome to my palace or would that be too nice?"
Her eyes shot up to the big man in front of her, and immediately all the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. At first, she thought he looked the same from the last time she saw him – same medieval robe, same black firing eyes, and the same radiance of horror. But she did think something was different about him.
"Uh," she hesitated at first, eyeing Pollux desperately, "Hi." She knew it was the wrong thing to say, as the Lord of the Dead looked unimpressed. There was a long silence as she tried to redirect her eye contact to the ceiling, and the Lord of the Dead didn't stop his weird look, but then Pollux cleared his throat.
"No offense, uh, Lord Hades," He failed to hide the hatred in his voice, "But why are we here?" She looked back at Hades, whose eyes had softened, or at least, as much as they could soften. More like the fires had tamed.
"Are you not appreciative that I am allowing you to stay here? After your camp is in turmoil and you children were denied by your own peers?" Hades shot back at him coolly. Pollux's eyes grew.
"I am allowing you to stay in my home, and you are questioning my actions! I could've stricken you down! You should thanking me on your knees! You are lucky I didn't kill you the first time I let you down here, Son of Dion-"
"Why?" The question fell out of Connie's mouth. She didn't mean to say it – It was a pure accident. Hades glared at her, which was much worse than any glare, but she didn't cower. She maintained eye contact bravely.
"You told Ni—your son," she stuttered, unsure if first-name basis was okay anymore, "I was not Andromeda and that I deserved to die. That I was a, uh, 'stupid mortal'. And that I, in a nutshell, would never amount to everything," Connie heard herself continue, "Why…my Lord?" At first he was silent. He watched her closely, twisting a piece of his hair around his long, thin fingers.
"You are very interesting, Constance Margaret Jennings. What is your background? Indulge me." At first, she was silent. But then she opened her mouth, and everything fell out.
"I'm from New York City. I guess you could say my dad is a, ah, entrepreneur. And my mother a retired model," she simplified. He nodded, almost to himself.
"And you met my pitiful son, how?" She looked at Nico briefly, who refused to meet her eyes. She could've said her story in a million ways. She met him in a tree, she got to know him in a park, he met her in a world she didn't understand.
But instead she said, "He saved my life." At first, the Lord of the Dead blinked at her, but then he bursted in a long echo of cold laughter. The laughter was hard against her ears, as it had felt like nails on chalkboard.
"Interesting…Interesting," he said after a long bellow, "But we must eat." At that exact moment, plates appeared on the table. Connie's eyes watched in silence as different types of food appeared; mashed potatoes, roasted chicken, pot roast, pizza, all different deliciousness. At first, she didn't touch anything, but then she saw that devilish look in his eyes, as if to say you better take something, and started to fill her plate with everything around her. Cautiously, Pollux followed.
As she nibbled on her food, she watched Hades. He was on his own throne, made from black, degraded bone. Sitting next to him was another throne, but smaller and more fragile. It radiated a white glow. It had a sweet serendipity to it, though it also had dark intentions.
"Lord Hades," she said, "May I ask a question?" He rolled his eyes, wavering his hand at her.
"Where is Persephone?" He stopped eating. For a small second, she regretted saying it. Where did that even come from? She wondered. She had no interest in Persephone.
"It is spring," He answered coolly, "Haven't you heard the story?" She nodded.
"Yeah," she said, "But it's snowing in New York." He rolled his eyes.
"And Georgia? Alabama? Texas? Do you think it's snowing there? No!" He snapped, "Spring starts in different times in different places, mortal." She nodded, accepting the answer.
"It must be wonderful," she said aloud, as she picked at her sweet potato casserole, "To be free. To be able to leave and travel the world, and yet have a home at the same time."
"Yes, well," he started, "She isn't the only one who had managed to leave my manor." He said this casually, but she saw the flicker of suspicion in his eyes. She had completely forgotten about that, she thought stupidly, is that why she was invited back? Because he was curious how she escaped his wrath? At first she was silent, biting her lip gingerly.
"Freedom isn't something you get easily," she said finally, "And believe me my Lord, I refuse to not be free." He stopped eating, giving her not a cold look but almost a look of reminiscence.
"You aren't the first person to tell me that," he said, as if to himself. She swallowed. An unusually curiosity drove through her.
"If you don't mind me asking, who?" Eerie silence followed for a brief moment, as if she went too far. Her eyes shot toward Pollux, who also stared around in silence. Her eyes looked back at Hades, noticing the hardness in his face.
"Doesn't matter," he said sharply, but by the look in Nico's eyes, it did very much matter.
"People always say that," she said, though she didn't intend on speaking. He leaned back in his chair.
"I'm not a pity mortal," he snarled dramatically, "I am a god."
"And I am a woman! I can see when people mean differently, my Lord," She bursted, as if she looked down upon him, though she didn't mean to say it like that. She was merely suggesting that maybe he was wrong. But accusing him? Accusing a god? It was an accident. Her hand flew to her mouth. His eyes flared back at her with black flames.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"You believe I care? My precious brothers banished me to the darkest corners of the earth, and you think people deserve my pity, you stupid insolent girl? I don't, I swear to you. The only person I yearn for happiness is for me." Her eyes flew to his also-bitter son, who seemed suddenly interested in his food. Slowly, she looked back at the god.
"Bullshit." The words slipped through her mouth like water. Pollux dropped his fork and Nico dug his head in his palms hopelessly. But she held the god's gaze and spoke once again, even though she had no idea where her voice was coming from.
"You do not blame your brothers for your unhappiness. Family is family, you already have accepted that family is too screwed up to get the best of you. But you crave something. Is it freedom? Is it love? Are you haunted from your mistakes?" Her voice projected against the bronze walls that enclosed the dining hall.
"People love you, yet you fear that you'll let them down," she revealed, "And even though you tell yourself that it's too late to show remorse, they still hang around. They forever wait for you to realize that you're not alone. That you appreciate them deep down. That you don't hate anybody. You're thousands of years old, and yet you still insist on blinding yourself. You disgust me."
Hades erupted from his chair violently.
"Nico," he hissed, "I think it's time to show your friends where they are staying." Her mouth opened, a nervous pile of excuses rising into her mouth, but Nico was already getting up and Pollux put his silverware down. She watched as they rounded the table, stepping near the jumbo doors.
"Come," Nico said. A part of her wanted to say no, wanted to defy. But the stronger part of her, the dominant part, knew that it was a lost cause. She gave one last look at Hades – sinking into his eyes, trying to understand him. Because there was something about him that reminded her of Nico. A part of him that she would never understand.
Slowly, she backed away, glancing at Pollux. But when she glanced back, he was being held by two skeletons. She sucked in a breath, stepping near, but Hades' voice stopped her.
"Nico will come back for him," Hades' voice drawled. She glared at nobody in particular. She wasn't surprised by that either – She had insulted Hades to the bone. Before turning toward the door and following Nico out, she nodded toward Pollux. There was no reason to say goodbye, she thought to herself, they were a team. No matter where she went, nobody would keep them apart.
"Fine," she spat at him angrily. Nico didn't look at her until she followed him out and the doors fell together with a bang.
"What?" she snapped at him angrily, "Are you not talking to me either?" He balled his fingers.
"Come," he repeated. He walked in front of her, leading her up a long twirling set of stairs. Anger built in her as she watched him, a guy she once respected, take her away from her best friend. It wasn't that she was truly away from Pollux that angered her – it was everything. The look Hades had set upon her, the way Nico despised her. She no longer felt welcome in this drastically beautiful place that he suddenly called 'home'.
"Where are we even going?" she asked, "Don't I deserve to know?" He didn't turn around to look at her, but yet continued to his fast pace.
"Somewhere you can stay for a while," he muttered. Her eyebrows raised.
"Is it a cellar? Jail?" She asked mockingly, "Because I'm sure Hades would like that." He stopped suddenly as he turned a corner toward a hallway.
"Don't speak of my father," he hissed, then continued his fast pace. She trotted behind him quickly.
"Don't speak of your father? Excuse me, did you see that? He completely chewed me out just because I asked a question!" she bursted loudly, "Don't tell me that I don't deserve to be angry about that!" He didn't answer this time, but continued to pace.
"And you! You're being a nasty little thing too! You won't even look at me without giving me a look of hatred," she spat, throwing her hands in the air, "I thought we understood each other. But it seems every time I talk to you, every time I even look at you, you act as if we were never friends." The word 'friends' ached at the end of her sentence, but she knew it was the only thing she could get his attention. And yet, even then, she failed.
"I'm not going to tell you I'm sorry!" she continued, her voice dying slowly, "You know I won't. I'm too proud to do that, Nico. So why won't you look at me? You've never gone this far." He finally stopped at a door. She was actually slightly surprised that it wasn't a jail cell or a cellar or any other way to trap her in there. Instead, it was an old wooden door with a broken knob that, she guessed, wasn't that dangerous at all.
He opened the door for her, refusing to connect eyes with her as he did so. She looked at him for a long moment before stepping into the room. His eyes looked like firey waves of betrayal, with his body pulled tightly together and his lips held together tight. She was done with him, she decided, she was done trying to make him feel better about himself. But when she walked in, she didn't close the door. She watched as he stepped away, toward the hallway, and didn't close the door until his shadow was gone.
(insert three dashes here)
It was beautiful room, she had to admit. Even though it wasn't spoiled with fancy colors or jeweled, it had a beautiful elegance to it. Everything was a dim cherry brook – the hardwood floors, the bed frame, an antique dresser in the back. Even the closet doors matched the ideal color. She liked it, she decided quickly. It was quaint. Acceptable yet not overwhelming at the same time.
She drew herself to the nearest door inside the room, opening it. Her eyes widened as she absorbed the surprise in front of her.
It was clothes. Not just salvage clothes either – nice, vintage dresses and flirty shirts and designer pants. They weren't new age or anything, but they were still flattering. Her hands ran through them, slowly picking them up one at a time. They were much too curvy for her bony body. They were made for decently-breasted woman, with a sharp hipbone, yet the stomach was made for somebody severely thin. She wondered how beautiful a woman would have to be to wear them. She tried to imagine all the models that she has met through the years, but not even they would ever fit into these ideal clothes perfectly. She could work it though, she thought to herself, maybe if she picked some that didn't have v-necks and were meant to be loose.
She decided on a loose gown to satisfy the night. She flipped it on easily, surprised how comfortable it made her. She liked it, she decided as she stared in the mirror. Obviously it wasn't something to go on a date in, but it was probably the best clothes she had worn in weeks.
She thought of going to the bathroom and clean up, but a part of her didn't want to leave and find it. She was sure there was one right outside her door, but who would be out there? Skeletons? Hades? Fear filled her. She was brave, but she wasn't stupid. So she slipped into her bed, and stared at the ceiling for a while. It was comfy, but it wasn't hers. It was a duchess' or a maiden. Not for a girl who wasn't welcomed.
Her eyes were growing heavy, her brain leaving, when she heard a creek. Suddenly, she sat up in her bed, breathing heavily. No, a part of her said, nobody is out there. Nobody will come in. It was her imagination. She was paranoid, she told herself, she spent too much time with the Lord of the Dead.
But then she heard another creek echo. She gripped her sheets deathly. Nobody will come in.
Creek. She jumped out of her bed so quickly the soles of her feet bruised and slowly approached the door. She heard the creeks echo louder and louder and by the time she knew the person was at the door, she was near the knob. Her fingers shaking, she was about to turn the knob but then BOOM! The door flew open, and she jumped away from it quickly, her breasts heaving. But then she saw the shadow flicker across her bedroom, and her eyes rose.
It was just Nico.
But there was no such thing as "just Nico" anymore. Nico was maddening. He carried hatred and denial and grudges that would, if he didn't take control, possibly take the best of him. She didn't know what to expect of him anymore, whether she should fear him or pity him or at least be wary of him. Because he was looking at her with black eyes – black like the tunnel they had walked through only a few hours ago – and more than ever she saw how he looked like his father. The milky skin, the bones easily seen, the uncontrollable hair, even the facial expressions he makes. Just like his father, she thought to herself again, he was just like his father.
She wanted to speak, but then he walked straight into her room. Her eyes scanned him for a split second – two, maybe three, hours made much change in him. His hair was ruffled, his undershirt looked twice as dirty, black shadows hovered under his eyes. Maybe she hadn't seen it before, maybe she had been distracted, but something was flickering across his face. Her heel stepped back a bit, fear zipping through her, but then he embraced her.
Embracing her was an understatement. One moment she was staring at him with hollow eyes, and the next he was kissing her. Or, at least, she thought he was kissing her. It happened so rapidly, she didn't even know what was going on. The moment his lips met with hers, he shoved her against the wall and smothered her. His knees locked on top of hers, her entire body touching his unwillingly. He persisted to kiss her, but she was motionless. His mouth, rough and impatient, bit open her lips, forcing himself in. She tried moving him away, but his body pushed her back. It didn't feel like passion, she thought to herself, it felt like a quest. He was seeking something that she did not know. Her hand pressed against his chest, every inch of her body wanting him to stop, but the minute she touched him he jammed her wrist against the wall behind her. Pain shot through her arm, as his lips continued. He didn't care that she wasn't kissing back, he just cared about kissing her. Her mind raced. She was getting pulled into it. She was fighting his pattern, but suddenly she found herself following it. Slowly, her lips started to form against his too. He was no longer kissing alone.
Something twitched on his lips when he felt her kiss back. His hand that was holding her wrist to the wall slackened, digging his hand to her hip painfully. Her other hand wrapped around his neck, forgetting about his hatred. Forgetting about dinner and the last two days. Forgetting about weeks of regret. She felt his hatred on his lips. She felt his anger hit her violently, but she didn't care. Her fingers elevated to his hair, tangling it recklessly. His fingers slid up her body slowly. He knew what he wanted, and he wasn't going to stop himself from indulging. He wasn't going to stop himself from something he believed wholly and completely his, no matter the cost. He touched her as if he was the painter, and she was his art. She pulled him to her, even though there was really no way he could get closer. As he continued up her body, his other hand went through her hair.
But then he stopped abruptly. He flung himself back against the hardboard floors, and she gasped for air. She forgot how to breathe for a moment, clutching at the wall and looking up at him. But when she looked at him, she noticed his hand clamped to his lips. His body began to tremble, shaking his head. His eyes held disgust. Complete disgust.
She took a step forward, almost concerned.
"Get away from me!" he screeched at her, taking two steps toward the hallway. She threw her hands up to her chest, blushing.
"If—If you get near me, if you approach me," his voice trembled, "I'll kill you. I'll—I'll kill you!" He slammed the door shut and listened until his feet faded away. She still couldn't breathe.
(imagine-three-dashes)
She heard air whistle out of her mouth. She saw how her chest was moving up and down lightly. She was perfectly okay. But she still couldn't breathe.
She tried staring at the ceiling for a bit longer, curling up underneath her blanket, but she felt like she was stamped. She couldn't get it out of her head. Him coming in here, kissing her, and then leaving as if she had just done the most cruel thing on the planet.
She wondered what Pollux would say. Where was Pollux, anyways? She thought to herself. She hadn't even thought of him – instead she had been thinking of Nico this entire time. She sighed to herself, guilt flying in her. There was no way to win, was there? She managed to piss off Hades, leave her best friend, practically get raped by the Lord of the Dead's son, and then getting looked at as if she was animal for letting it happen.
She couldn't stay here any longer. She jumped from her bed, her feet walking toward the door. She was barely clothed – just a thin little gown – but she didn't care at this point. She opened the door and walked into the hallway loudly.
Of course, she had no idea where she was going. Literally and mentally. Who was she trying to find? She longed for someone, she just didn't know who. She wondered where Pollux was. Was he near, or would he be far away? Knowing Nico, he had probably leaded him in the most darkest, farther place he could think of. It didn't help that she didn't bother remembering how she got to her room, but she followed her instincts.
She took a chance and journeyed upstairs. She swung herself around a twirling staircase, leading up somewhere. She had to of gone a dozen stories. When it stopped, she turned a left. Her hallway turned into another dead end though, no door to be seen, so she whisked herself to the other one. It grew darker as she walked down, but she didn't care. She couldn't go back now. In the blackness, she could make out a dirtier, old staircase. Spider webs haloed around it, dust piling under her. She wouldn't have followed it if she hadn't seen the spider webs concave together, as if somebody has tore it apart. There were footprints in the dusty floor. She took a shaky breath.
He had to be here. Why anybody would put Pollux in such a dirty, terrible place? She didn't know. But, giving it one last look, she dove in. She yanked the spiderwebs from her view, almost slipping against the rough cement. But when she made it to the top, light glowed.
She expected it to go into a cellar, or a jail, or maybe just a ragged bedroom. But instead she found herself in another halfway. She froze. She should just go back, a voice told her, go back to bed. Rest. But the end of the hallway glowed. She couldn't resist it now. Slowly, cautiously, she tiptoed into the hallway, tempted to call out Pollux's name, but something told her not to. She closed her mouth tightly, and thank god she did, because when she turned the last corner, she saw a room open.
But it wasn't just a room. The door was ajar, and a figure was in the doorway. She stepped silently, sure that he couldn't hear her. It was something she was good at – being invisible.
As she grew closer, she saw it was Nico, once again. But what was he doing in there, all alone? She expected him to be locked in his room. But of course he wasn't.
At a distance, she could see in the room and she couldn't help but be at awe. It was a small room, no bigger than hers in New York, with the walls having a peeling probably-once-beautiful maroon background. Hundreds of candles floated around the room flickered occasionally in the darkness. The room was crammed with tables and chairs and pictures that framed the walls. She could make out old dressers with dusty mirrors balancing on top of them. Gorgeous dresses, varying from different sizes and styles and lengths, all hung lazily around the room as if begging for somebody to finally touch them.
Her feet followed him into the room slowly. She watched him carefully as he slowly touched the trinkets on the first brook table. The first table attracted automatically. It wasn't that large, but it was piled with thousands of treasures that she knew were decades old. Paper – possibly letters – sprawled out carelessly on top of broken frames. Dolls, canisters, jewelry, clothes, and other things hung around the table, whether it was on top of an antique chair or dangling off the wallpaper.
He was at awe too. She could tell as he brought a small bracelet to his face, a gold lace dazzled with dark red stones that dangled into the air, because his body froze. She wondered what he was thinking about. She squinted to try to see who owned these things. It was probably his father's wife, she decided. Only she would carry so much wealthy trinkets. But why were they up here? Hidden, for nobody to see? It didn't seem like her, she thought; his wife seemed like somebody who would want to flaunt her beauties, rather than lock them in a forbidden room. And why would she hide them so far away, so deep inside the castle? Nobody could get through these walls, and even if they did, she was sure that old artifacts would not be what they were looking for. It was like it was hiding here for a reason. The dust that clouded around everywhere, with spider webs that sprawled across the walls, proved that it wasn't opened much. Like whoever was using this room was not just hiding these things from the common people, but from somebody else in this very castle. From somebody who had no interest in going into one of the darker rooms in the castle, somebody who sought no reason to go into a lost closet.
Nico's fingers suddenly let go of the bracelet, making it clink as it fell to the ground. She felt a pain in her stomach as he abandoned the lost gems, accidentally (or was it not accidental?) stepped on it with a crunch. She expected him to continue, to dig deeper into the mysterious room so that she could step in too without him noticing. Until he swerved around rapidly, nailed her to the wall, and pressed a black sword to her throat. She breathed heavily, her eyes wide with surprise. He didn't look surprised. How long had he known she was there? But she noticed how his eyes strained. His lips pressed together in a firm line, as if struggling with himself. For a split second, she felt the sword plunge deeper into her skin, readying for a sharp slit. But then he backed away slowly, sliding the sword back into his sheath.
"Forget it," he said out loud, his voice hollow, "You don't deserve death's presence today." As he turned away, she couldn't help remember his threat.
"I thought you were exaggerating when you threatened me earlier," she said out loud, betrayal swimming through her, "Apparently not." He gave a cold laugh under his breath, shaking his head. He looked at her again a terrifying dark humor playing across his face.
"Why would I ever exaggerate about that?" he asked. She blinked.
"Because my death isn't important enough to be put on your conscious," she murmured. His eyebrows furrowed down a moment, as if he was about to object, but then spun in toward the room again, completely forgetting about her within a second. She blinked at first, unsure what to do, but then slowly followed him in.
"Interesting isn't it?" he said, a bitterness leaking into his tone. "My father has a whole life that he refuses to tell me." She looked down at the table that she had been craving to see. Even though she was expecting it, she still gaped.
It was Maria's of course. She should've known. Beautiful pictures sprawled out under things. Now that she saw the pictures, she seemed so much younger. None of them were with his father, but yet her by herself. Connie picked up a photo that was small enough to stick in a wallet. It was tainted with ugly colors, but that didn't make it any less beautiful. Maria didn't look a day over sixteen. She was beautiful – long black hair falling down her shoulders, with large dark irises. She had bundled together on a train elegantly as if ready to pose for a picture, but instead her eyes were lost outside the window, as if longing to go on the unfamiliar lands– a look that Connie has seen on herself a million times. She wondered who captured it. Was his father there with her? Or was it a photo that he somehow was able to ahold of?
"She doesn't look that old," Connie said out loud, stroking the photo with her thumb, "She was just a kid." Nico was deeper inside the room, but he still heard her.
"She died at the age of twenty-four," he informed her, "She met my father when she was seventeen. But don't be fooled Connie – by that age, in the world she lived in, it was normal for woman to be having children and getting married and living." Living.It was such a strong word for him to say, but she couldn't help but wonder if Maria was happy with that. If Maria had lived as much as she hoped.
She put the picture down gently, though her fingers itched to keep it. She quickly redirected her attention. She was about to turn and follow Nico to the other things he was lingering to, when a beautiful red dress caught her eye. It was made for somebody who was much curvier then her – with a classical vintage body. It probably only went to the mid-thigh of a woman who was her height, dazzled with white crystals. For some odd reason, she wanted it. A part of her told herself that it was hers. It was made for her. Her fingers trembling, she felt it.
The texture was perfect. A soft silk, but yet having a pattern carved into it.
"It's perfect," she whispered to herself. Within a heartbeat, she felt somebody hover over her. From behind her a white, thin hand touched the dress too. She could feel his breath on her neck.
"It is," he said, as if realizing it for the first time, "I think she favored it." He stood there for a moment, breathing on her, before backing away slowly. She watched him from the corner of her eye trail back to a different table. His slowly fingers whisked through other pictures of a different woman, with long blonde hair and a wide smile. She should've left right then, before it got any more awkward, but then there was one last table – behind everything. She tipped toward it, sliding past Nico as he lost himself within the photos he was holding. It was darker in this corner. There was nothing but paper on the table – letters, print-outs, modern-looking evidence.
She held it to her face, squinting to see it in the dark. At first she just looked at it, but then she digested what was on top of the page. Her eyes twitched when she read it, a heavy breath falling out of her. What was this? She asked herself anxiously. What the hell is this?
"Constance Margaret Jennings," she read aloud numbly, "Nico, what is this?"