Epitaph Empress
Author's Note: Ok, I updated again at long bloody last! Sorry this chapter is so short! I know it's going slow. . .one update per fortnight and all, but my exams are closing in on me something awful right now. My education hates me and won't be satisfied until I'm locked away in a padded cell somewhere. It relaxes, gives me time to start a writing project and then strangles all the inspiration out of me by going insanely strict. It's a repeat-until-insane kind of method. Anyway, thanks for still being there guys! Thanks for all your patience with me - it'll be rewarded one day, I swear. As to your questions - Rainne, could you please give me a link to 'Embracing the Darkness'? I'd love to read it! Hekate, I like your suggestion for including Hecate in the fanfic, I'll try and bring her in shortly. And to Saki - thanks for sending you fanart of Hades and Persephone, it's beautiful. Persephone is perfect! One more important note for everyone, I've changed me e-mail address, so if anyone wants to get in contact with me, you can now find me at ariadne@btopenworld.com - I look forward to hearing from people again!
Epitaph Empress
Chapter XI
The halls were cold. Hades resided in darkness and the chilled air that was neither dead nor alive embraced him with ashen reluctance. The hall, where he sat in his cold throne, now placed beside the empty throne of his bright queen, was without a trace of the passion that had burnt so fiercely in his young bride so recently. Instead, the grand grey chamber was hushed and sombre, the air thick with the solitary sound of her first broken sobs, a singular sound, echoing off unfeeling walls. They were both alone - he in his throne room and she in her chamber.
Would she rise soon and leave her chamber? Would she greet him? Would a few uninterrupted hours have led her to accept her fate? Each thought was a thread of hope that Hades clung to like a lifeline. In truth, there was no telling when she would leave her chamber of dark wealth as there was no way to distinguish between day and night in her new kingdom - the Underworld knew neither. Instead, it was a decaying cradle for the time in between, the darkest hour, past midnight and approaching dawn, yet plunging the world into deep blackness. It festered like a carcass of peeled skin and ate any new brightness, in a desperate need to rejuvenate itself. He paused. He would not go to her, but allow her to come to him.
His own time was neither one of day nor night and was not separated so. His life was one long, eternal hour without sleep or waking or dreams. Sleep was a luxury unknown to him, apart from the early days in which he sought the oblivion it offered as means of escaping his tormented feelings for young Persephone. His life consisted of a flow of duties - to reside over souls, to judge and punish, to keep an all-knowing eye fixed upon these souls - and also a stagnation where there was little at all to do but recline in darkness and left at the mercy of his own thoughts. Thoughts of darkness. Thoughts of anguish. Thoughts of loneliness. Thoughts of longing. He never slept; instead he remained awake and steadfast, like a cold black statue with the eyes of the abyss. It left his spirit eternally heavy and weary from all the pain of the waking hours.
Elsewhere, Persephone had begun to understand that pain, that stale chill of weariness, of a longing to slip out of her skin and escape it all. She had sobbed upon her bed all night, spilled out a portion of her sorrow, an aspect of how heartwenching and painful her alienation was upon silks so smooth and dark, they could've been woven from the black of that fateful eclipse. She cried, with no-one to hear the sound of her sobs, the terrible sound of one completely alone, with only the sound of her own ragged breaths to listen to.
How starved her spirit was! How grey and flaccid it seemed, as though something had drained all the life from her, leaving her torn and lifeless. Even the memory of bright things, of soft scents, of wild air gave no comfort. It only reminded her of what she may never again hope to see. All the future had to offer her now was different shades of mundane, alternating features of the despair of drowning blackness, different hues of rot and death.
More than anything, she missed her mother. Again and again, she had reached out with her mind, calling out to her desperately, always expecting to hear her. She always expecting to hear an overjoyed cry and feel her mother's warmth scoop her up like a fallen child, hold her in her large arms and make everything well again and to take back all that was bad and frightening. Each time she faced not just disappointment, but the crushing renewal of her loss, of her fear. Without her mother's presence to guide and comfort her, she felt as though the better part of her was dead, as if an element to her that had always been tangible was now gone forever. For the first time, she knew what it felt to be alone. She felt that lost, terrified feeling wring the hope and brightness out of her. She wanted her mother! She wanted to cry once more, but realised she had not the strength to do so. Time bled into the darkness and soon ceased to exist as she wandered like a disembodied spirit across her expansive chamber, lost in the dreary whirl of her own thoughts, trying to shut her eyes and remember the sunshine. She tried to twirl and dance with such joy and freedom as she once had, re-enacting her fondest memories and grass, the sunlight on her face and the big blue sky. But she could not. It was not the same. Somehow, the darkness had seeped in to even her most colourful memory, and here, in this drizzly realm, those colours had been dulled.
Outside, she heard and authoritative rap upon the huge doors of her chamber. She did not even need to sense the overwhelming grandeur, the sheer power and imperious, consuming darkness to know who it was. From the other side of her door - his mind awash with all he sensed from her, the battling strength of her spirit, her life, her warmth, her light, the great capacity for love she held - Hades silently cursed himself. He had vowed in cold blood to allow her to come to him, as she eventually must, he reasoned. But he found himself, as always, pursuing her, unable to stay away from her. Her light was a single shining beacon in the darkness and despite all his cold, pragmatic reason, he could not fight it and was drawn without hope or resistance towards it, yearning for a single fleeting touch.
He longed to look upon her and see his own reflection in her eyes of springtime, to confirm that she was looking upon him. He longed only to hear her voice, to have her speak to him with her tender, chiming flow of soft words. He wanted only to take it away, to make her happy once more. He would wait forever, if only for the chance that she might speak to him.
Inside, Persephone stood, limbs frozen. She knew she ought to answer him. Yet she could not bring herself to. She did not want to speak to him. Though, she realised sadly, there was nobody else to speak to, not a soul that would listen. She knew she bizarrely felt in his debt for not bringing her to his own chamber upon their wedding night. She still remembered that terrible, screaming dread. She knew not exactly what was to take place between husband and wife to pass by the cold nights and yet she knew there was nothing she feared more desperately. He had spared he and for that she felt gratitude. But still, she could barely bring herself to look upon him or even think of him, to talk to him was a labour she did not wish to perform.
And still, she felt herself drawn to the door, knowing him to be standing outside in vulnerable silence. Why did she feel his voice speak to her in sympathy? She now understood his loneliness because she felt it to, as she felt herself move towards the door. Did she truly want to speak to someone so much? Why was she drawn towards the door? Why was she considering opening it? Was she considering speaking to him?
What was it he wanted? Persephone could scarcely comprehend how someone could want to see her and speak to her so often, how he could be so bone- chillingly devoted. She felt a question of her own rise: if he loved her then why did he steal her away? Why did he not ask for her hand? Surely even one made from shadow and shroud, filled with despair and death could not have known only greed and selfishness, she supposed. A light flickered behind her jaded green eyes. An answer she wanted, and an answer she would receive.
It was as if her body consented to something her mind rebelled against. Stiffly, she strode towards the door, unsure and feeling very small and lonely. Trembling, she reached out, her wavering arm dancing falteringly in the chill of the black air and opened the door. . .
Author's Note: Ok, I updated again at long bloody last! Sorry this chapter is so short! I know it's going slow. . .one update per fortnight and all, but my exams are closing in on me something awful right now. My education hates me and won't be satisfied until I'm locked away in a padded cell somewhere. It relaxes, gives me time to start a writing project and then strangles all the inspiration out of me by going insanely strict. It's a repeat-until-insane kind of method. Anyway, thanks for still being there guys! Thanks for all your patience with me - it'll be rewarded one day, I swear. As to your questions - Rainne, could you please give me a link to 'Embracing the Darkness'? I'd love to read it! Hekate, I like your suggestion for including Hecate in the fanfic, I'll try and bring her in shortly. And to Saki - thanks for sending you fanart of Hades and Persephone, it's beautiful. Persephone is perfect! One more important note for everyone, I've changed me e-mail address, so if anyone wants to get in contact with me, you can now find me at ariadne@btopenworld.com - I look forward to hearing from people again!
Epitaph Empress
Chapter XI
The halls were cold. Hades resided in darkness and the chilled air that was neither dead nor alive embraced him with ashen reluctance. The hall, where he sat in his cold throne, now placed beside the empty throne of his bright queen, was without a trace of the passion that had burnt so fiercely in his young bride so recently. Instead, the grand grey chamber was hushed and sombre, the air thick with the solitary sound of her first broken sobs, a singular sound, echoing off unfeeling walls. They were both alone - he in his throne room and she in her chamber.
Would she rise soon and leave her chamber? Would she greet him? Would a few uninterrupted hours have led her to accept her fate? Each thought was a thread of hope that Hades clung to like a lifeline. In truth, there was no telling when she would leave her chamber of dark wealth as there was no way to distinguish between day and night in her new kingdom - the Underworld knew neither. Instead, it was a decaying cradle for the time in between, the darkest hour, past midnight and approaching dawn, yet plunging the world into deep blackness. It festered like a carcass of peeled skin and ate any new brightness, in a desperate need to rejuvenate itself. He paused. He would not go to her, but allow her to come to him.
His own time was neither one of day nor night and was not separated so. His life was one long, eternal hour without sleep or waking or dreams. Sleep was a luxury unknown to him, apart from the early days in which he sought the oblivion it offered as means of escaping his tormented feelings for young Persephone. His life consisted of a flow of duties - to reside over souls, to judge and punish, to keep an all-knowing eye fixed upon these souls - and also a stagnation where there was little at all to do but recline in darkness and left at the mercy of his own thoughts. Thoughts of darkness. Thoughts of anguish. Thoughts of loneliness. Thoughts of longing. He never slept; instead he remained awake and steadfast, like a cold black statue with the eyes of the abyss. It left his spirit eternally heavy and weary from all the pain of the waking hours.
Elsewhere, Persephone had begun to understand that pain, that stale chill of weariness, of a longing to slip out of her skin and escape it all. She had sobbed upon her bed all night, spilled out a portion of her sorrow, an aspect of how heartwenching and painful her alienation was upon silks so smooth and dark, they could've been woven from the black of that fateful eclipse. She cried, with no-one to hear the sound of her sobs, the terrible sound of one completely alone, with only the sound of her own ragged breaths to listen to.
How starved her spirit was! How grey and flaccid it seemed, as though something had drained all the life from her, leaving her torn and lifeless. Even the memory of bright things, of soft scents, of wild air gave no comfort. It only reminded her of what she may never again hope to see. All the future had to offer her now was different shades of mundane, alternating features of the despair of drowning blackness, different hues of rot and death.
More than anything, she missed her mother. Again and again, she had reached out with her mind, calling out to her desperately, always expecting to hear her. She always expecting to hear an overjoyed cry and feel her mother's warmth scoop her up like a fallen child, hold her in her large arms and make everything well again and to take back all that was bad and frightening. Each time she faced not just disappointment, but the crushing renewal of her loss, of her fear. Without her mother's presence to guide and comfort her, she felt as though the better part of her was dead, as if an element to her that had always been tangible was now gone forever. For the first time, she knew what it felt to be alone. She felt that lost, terrified feeling wring the hope and brightness out of her. She wanted her mother! She wanted to cry once more, but realised she had not the strength to do so. Time bled into the darkness and soon ceased to exist as she wandered like a disembodied spirit across her expansive chamber, lost in the dreary whirl of her own thoughts, trying to shut her eyes and remember the sunshine. She tried to twirl and dance with such joy and freedom as she once had, re-enacting her fondest memories and grass, the sunlight on her face and the big blue sky. But she could not. It was not the same. Somehow, the darkness had seeped in to even her most colourful memory, and here, in this drizzly realm, those colours had been dulled.
Outside, she heard and authoritative rap upon the huge doors of her chamber. She did not even need to sense the overwhelming grandeur, the sheer power and imperious, consuming darkness to know who it was. From the other side of her door - his mind awash with all he sensed from her, the battling strength of her spirit, her life, her warmth, her light, the great capacity for love she held - Hades silently cursed himself. He had vowed in cold blood to allow her to come to him, as she eventually must, he reasoned. But he found himself, as always, pursuing her, unable to stay away from her. Her light was a single shining beacon in the darkness and despite all his cold, pragmatic reason, he could not fight it and was drawn without hope or resistance towards it, yearning for a single fleeting touch.
He longed to look upon her and see his own reflection in her eyes of springtime, to confirm that she was looking upon him. He longed only to hear her voice, to have her speak to him with her tender, chiming flow of soft words. He wanted only to take it away, to make her happy once more. He would wait forever, if only for the chance that she might speak to him.
Inside, Persephone stood, limbs frozen. She knew she ought to answer him. Yet she could not bring herself to. She did not want to speak to him. Though, she realised sadly, there was nobody else to speak to, not a soul that would listen. She knew she bizarrely felt in his debt for not bringing her to his own chamber upon their wedding night. She still remembered that terrible, screaming dread. She knew not exactly what was to take place between husband and wife to pass by the cold nights and yet she knew there was nothing she feared more desperately. He had spared he and for that she felt gratitude. But still, she could barely bring herself to look upon him or even think of him, to talk to him was a labour she did not wish to perform.
And still, she felt herself drawn to the door, knowing him to be standing outside in vulnerable silence. Why did she feel his voice speak to her in sympathy? She now understood his loneliness because she felt it to, as she felt herself move towards the door. Did she truly want to speak to someone so much? Why was she drawn towards the door? Why was she considering opening it? Was she considering speaking to him?
What was it he wanted? Persephone could scarcely comprehend how someone could want to see her and speak to her so often, how he could be so bone- chillingly devoted. She felt a question of her own rise: if he loved her then why did he steal her away? Why did he not ask for her hand? Surely even one made from shadow and shroud, filled with despair and death could not have known only greed and selfishness, she supposed. A light flickered behind her jaded green eyes. An answer she wanted, and an answer she would receive.
It was as if her body consented to something her mind rebelled against. Stiffly, she strode towards the door, unsure and feeling very small and lonely. Trembling, she reached out, her wavering arm dancing falteringly in the chill of the black air and opened the door. . .