Nothing could quite describe the awe inspiring nature of the radiant light that streamed down the roughly hewn stone steps, piercing and pushing back the damp shadows of the corners of the dungeon. The light seemed to bend tightly around the frame of the door, as if eager to illuminate her world. The light was briefly cut off as Perseus and Annabeth hobbled from the room.
Khione wasn't sure how long she sat there upon the floor, nor did she want to think why she did. Maybe it was the way that the light reflected of the last few sparkles of gold left in her faded ichor on the floor. Maybe it was a fear that this was all a trick, and that as soon as she emerged from the dungeon she would be shoved back in, and beaten as she was before. Or maybe it was even some strange mutation of stockholm syndrome that had managed to take hold of her divine mind. None of the options that came to mind were pleasant, and she was sure that no explanation would be. Regardless, she refused to stay long enough for any one of the possibilities to manifest itself as truth.
She felt jealous of Perseus, who had his concubines to support him as he recovered from her injury. She had to reacquaint her unused legs with standing on her own, using the bars of her cage to hoist her body upward. Despite this handicap, her godly body and pure fear of letting herself remain in the dungeon any longer were enough to overcome the almost indomitable refusal to move that her legs gave. With slow, carefully orchestrated steps that felt detached from her being, alien due to the lack of use for so long, she made her way to the stairs, and slowly ascended them. The dungeon seemed to call to her, incorporeal hands attempting to pull her back as she fought for her freedom. It was the work of a deity, she was sure, but not Aphrodite. The magic was not of the same age, and it's caster was becoming rapidly more apparent as they scrambled for purchase on Khione's mind. She was sure it wasn't Aphrodite now. She grasped back with her own divine mind, attempting to rapidly reel in the source.
The image resolved, a figure cloaked in darkness. There was a crown on their head, a golden apple in their hand. I, catalyst of the Trojan War, orchestrator of death, hereby use my power to correct the wrongs I have been put through. I was forgotten one too many times, and now they sha- A splitting pain coursed through Khione's vision, the deity had noticed her, and had cut the magic. She slammed the dungeon door shut, sliding down to the hallway floor as she grasped her head in her hands. Looking down upon herself, she sighed, for it was a pitiful sight. Her nails had grown long, chips decorating the ends and scuffs adorning the surface. She was coated in a slight layer of sweat and grime, though it was certainly lessened by when Perseus had used water to heal her. She shivered, recalling the terrifying way that his eyes hardened, how they went from that of a kind, benevolent soul that she could trust with her every woe to that of a sadistic authoritarian, choking her, dishing out every bit of punishment that he could for breaking his own personal laws he imposed upon her; making her realize that she truly was the issue in the grand and perfect order of the household. No. She wasn't an issue, she had done nothing wrong... and neither had he, Aphrodite was influencing him. Small, salty tears carved paths in the panic risen frost upon her cheeks, slowly dripping from her chin onto the ruined shreds that once was her dress, now more exposing than a beach bikini.
Khione shook her head, the physical gesture doing little to help her clear the thoughts clouding her mind, but nonetheless she did. She would have to visit the nymphs, they could help… would they help was the true question. Slowly she wandered through the halls, up and down staircases, gazing admirably at the impeccably designed corridors of the labyrinthine mansion.
She heard the nymphs before she saw them, barely picking up on their quiet utterances.
"...want to give him..."
"...won't expect it..."
"...when should we..."
The conversation ceased instantly as Khione appeared in the doorway. A purple oceanid lay in the bed, a thermos tightly gripped below her wide eyed, wan face. A dryad with splotched grey skin also looked at her with fear, but her hand creeping out to grab the fruit knife from the table made it clear she was a fighter. And while it hurt that they thought they might have to fight her, nothing hurt more than the lead nymph instantly placing herself between Khione and the two younger nymphs, her stance that of a timid protectiveness. It was her that spoke first.
"I...I assume that master has released you?" she postulated the question in a harsh, aggressive tone, a stark contrast to the frightened, pusillanimous countenance. Khione nodded in confirmation. The grey eye of the cloud nymph she had frozen, Nimba if she recalled correctly, peered around the older oceanid; her terrified gaze biting much deeper into Khione's psyche than she would have both expected or liked, stirring up an emotion wholly unfamiliar to her.
"Yes, he… he did," she responded, her voice proving weak from disuse, "I wanted to request a room to sleep in."
The oceanid looked at her with a cautious yet disdainful gaze, "You will have to wait for that. It is not our job to situate you." That was fair.
Without a word, she left the nymphs to themselves. She could just barely hear a myriad of held breaths being released. The halls seemed almost entirely devoid of life, only the sounds of other people moving around in their rooms or on the floor above reassured her that she was not once again alone. She almost missed the marking for the bathroom, but caught it at the last minute. Stepping inside, she locked the door. The shower wasn't even a different section of the room, instead it was a walk in, the drain embedded in the floor. She stepped into the shower, letting her snowy dress melt away, leaving her form nude. Firmly grasping the the crystalline knob, she twisted it, sharply gasping as the sparkling, cold water washed over her body. She sat there, arms hanging to her sides as she relished in the delightfully chilled water. It reminded her of the ponds she would bathe in all those millenia ago, their thin layers of ice like a blanket to her submerged body. She let the water flow down her front and memories to cascade through her mind, soothing, pacifying.
She reached out for the soap on the shower shelf, and froze. Displayed before her eyes was a ghastly burlesque of her dreaded dungeon. Wet stones, glossy with moisture, her own breathing echoing off the walls and feeding itself back into her ears, her arm before her stained a yellowed grey from so long without a proper shower. Khione yanked her hand back, trembling violently. Her own horrid fantasy enveloped her, and she sunk to her knees, the water splashing upon her no longer enough to lull her into placidity. How pathetic of her, to be kneeling like one of the so many pitiful ice sculptures she had made before.
An idea sparked within her. She remembered that one of the more recent people she had frozen did something that quite intrigued her. He was trembling, terrified like all those before him. But then he began to take deep, stuttering breaths, in and out at a constant rhythm. As he did this, his trembling mellowed, until eventually he looked at her, perfectly put together with a harsh and stony glare. Maybe it was worth a try. Forcefully, she began to breathe as he did. Slowly, in, and out, and in and out again and again until finally, the feeling of control started to creep back into her. She was fine, this was her body, under her control. She was fine.
On a whim, she stood from the shower floor, and turned the shower knob to the hot side. Contrary to what she knew some people believed, mild heat did not produce a feeling of pain within her. No, instead it was distracting. It muddled her brain, and she hated that. She was a goddess of control and precision, and she was always in control and precise. That was how she liked it, to be the sole queen of her inclement world.
Maybe that was what her problem was. She was by no means a queen now, no indeed she was a lowly concubine. So maybe it was okay to surrender control some of the time. Surrender it to herself, to the water, to Perseus-No. Through her loathing of the pure concept of surrendering to Perseus, she knew she would have to eventually.
Her world began to dissolve into a fog, and Khione wasn't entirely sure that it was the steam. She felt light, floaty, free. The warm water felt so pleasant, so blissed. Indeed, it was okay to surrender once and awhile, to allow herself to be ensnared by the sybaritic desires that she normally so adamantly suppressed. The water caressed her, like Perseus had done so many days ago.
Khione shut off the water and towelled off. Her mind slowly regained it's clarity. She rummaged through the drawers under the sink until she found a handcrafted wooden hair brush. She slowly ran the bristles through her hair, relishing in the feeling. She enjoyed combing her hair. It reminded her of the lengths of her immortal life, and all the times she had done it before. After all, it was always her that managed her hair. She had only had it done by other people 4 times in her life. Her father had done it once before the start of each giant war, seeming almost as if he cared for her as more than his fearsome warrior daughter. Cal had done it once, likely in some pathetic attempt to win her sisterly affection. And then there was Perseus… ironically, despite the circumstances, neither Boreas nor Cal had managed to show the care that he had. Finishing with the trailing end of her silky black hair, she picked the few strands of her hair from the brush, letting them float down into the trash can.
Staring herself down in the mirror, she summoned a dress of snow around her form once more. Her glare hardened as she attempted to regain her usual countenance that sent fear into the hearts of mortals. She barely managed a bitter smile. It was no use.
Striding out into the hall, she strode on, continuing her absentminded exploration of the mansion. The corridor gave way to an extravagant kitchen, expanses of florid counters stretching around it's boundaries. Her nails trailed along the satiny stone, before reaching out and plucking a brilliant red apple from a patinated jorum. Khione leaned back against the kitchen island, watching the sun set on the beach outside as she slowly ate her apple. While the sweet, crisp flesh of the fruit was indeed satisfying, it only made her long for the taste of nectar.
It was only minutes after she finished eating that the sun finally sunk below the horizon, and the vivid blues of the darkening sky seemed so pleasing to her drooping eyes. The thought that troubled her in the sleepy minutes before her surrender to unconsciousness was one of servitude. No, not that she was put into it. But that the thought of surrendering herself to the master of the island, to Perseus, bugged her not nearly as much as it should have.
The same deity she had seen earlier haunted her dreams, which she shouldn't have even had. It's shadowy figure tossed a brilliant golden apple between its hands, a rich female voice mocking her from just out of the reach of her straining eyes.
"Oh my poor little Khione… You really weren't the target of this all, but yet here you are, forced to spread your legs to the man who's demise you shall later bring. Such a fearsome goddess you are, such a fearsome toy. My own… little… Khelidon… "