Concerning anyone who had ever been jerked out of a deep sleep, who knows if it could have compared to the alarm that jolted Melantriche out of her eternal rest. Perhaps it could have easily been compared to an infant being pushed out into the harsh world, filled with blinding light and shouting and the dryness and the cold— oh, so cold.
Slim tendrils of searing heat, wrapping around what she thought might be her wrist, and the grip was startlingly strong. Maybe it was because she had been there so long, she had merged in with the onyx nothing and that's why it hurt so much to be pulled out all too quickly from it. Breaking the surface of the room she was thrust into the air, then, feeling her feet slap against the ground, found no solid solace. She was bounced back into the air and down again, slipping and landing on her hands and knees. Sobbing, noisily sucking up thick frosty air, coughing up something that, at best could be described as solidified water, she came to a rude awakening that she may or may not have forgotten how to breathe properly. Her hands slid out from underneath her, to and fro. Almost fascinated, she dug into the squishy, slippery substance with the tips of her toes and palms. Maybe it wasn't a room, or endless at all, but an ocean made of something like... gelatin. And she had been imprisoned beneath it.
Through the slips of her soaking hair, slivers of an unimaginable something poured through, burning her eyes. Even if she shut her lids tight, the red glow behind them still blared angrily. It was not easy, registering light after years buried in the darkness, and never with this sort of light, a kind which the likes of a normal human might never see. At dawn, a solid orb of passionate red. All day, bright and white and dazzling. In the evening, liquid dripping pools of mauve and orange and soft pink, sweet and pleasant to look at. It... took exactly that amount of time to adjust to his aura. Teeth chattering, chilly breath ghosting out between her dripping chapped lips, her eyes squinted, struggling to stay open from the cold. But the light almost seemed to reach out to her, and the closer you looked at it, you realized it had a face...
The god compelled her to stay alert. It was a familiar face, one that brought cold shivers down her spine but somehow, the bleak memories didn't do this glorious creature a single bit of justice. He was tall, lean yet muscular, with smoothly burnished skin the color of sun-kissed wheat. The lines that made up his face were solid and tangible, perfectly chiseled features like marble. A small hero nose, faceted blue eyes the color of the teal ocean waves when the sun sparkled against them, the fair eyebrows, the wavy blond hair—so blond. Each strand seemed to glow separately, pale and flaxen and purely aureate, down to the roots. Never, in all her existence, did Melantriche ever see anyone with such hair. And his mouth...
Suddenly, Melantriche had to fight the urge to throw up. Her limp hands slapped uselessly against her hot, pounding temples, the sudden memories assailing as if to stone her. Flashes of white, red, and green exploded in her already-blurry vision as she strained to continue balancing herself.
The feeling of dread, the irritability.
A bulging pouch of gold coins. The sting of sticky glass blades slapping against her legs. The heat of a hundred bodies screaming for half-off prices, the stench of coriander, sweat, of pigs in the pen. The tall boulder of a middle-aged man, sheathed in iron and iron-faced. His cruel hands, his cruel voice...
Sweet taste of honey. A dazzling smile. His hands. His smile. That smile.
He was smiling at her now. A strange, sublime and terrible smile as his sparkling eyes flickered over her. She could not comprehend the way she felt, following his eyes down onto herself and for a dumb minute, she had to process that she was, in fact, very naked. Her arms seemed to snap to attention, clumsy and numb and blue from the cold, her fingers desperately clasping at her wet breasts, her rosy nipples peaked and taut from the cold. She slid onto her bottom, her knees crossed in such a way that he wouldn't be able to see in between them. The painful heat of humiliation scorched her cheeks. The god merely threw back his head slightly and laughed, an alien noise to Melantriche. At most, it could be compared to an echoing, dry crackle of burning wood. Positioning his hard gaze on Melantriche again, he took a step forward. Melantriche flinched; to see a figure so solid, moving was almost inconceivable to her. He came closer, and closer, till he looked right above her, simulating a near colossal pillar of bright light. If she chose, she could lean forward and kiss his perfect feet if she chose. He stood with his broad, muscled shoulders back, his spine loose and confident. He seemed to eye her with an artist's touch, crossing his arms and bringing a hand to his chin in a mock-thinking pose. He tutted.
"My, my, my. Why so shy? If it's beauty that can surpass a goddess, then why bother feel any shame?"
Muteness, the acerbic taste melting in with her saliva. She had been born again, this time with the taste of the wax in her mouth. That's how it felt anyway. She was stuck in her prison for so long she barely noticed it now, except that the god was asking her a question. Speech evaded her even if she could speak; the wax had not dissolved. His hardened eyes made all of her tremble.
"Melantriche~, you can't even say?"
Despite the supposed playfulness that he rang her name with, there was no doubting the command that anchored the god's voice. Melantriche jolted. Hands quivering violently, she forced them to her lips, which she parted in a wide grin of sorts. Anguished moans bloated, trapped behind her bound mouth. Frantically, she pointed to teeth, the wax that surely would have yellowed them by now. Ah, brown stained, decaying teeth. Allowing such a resplendent deity the ugly sight made her burn with shame.
"Hm?" He frowned as he leaned closer, inspecting the supposed problem. After a moment, a sort of mild understanding crossed his tall, tan, unblemished face. "Ah, I forgot about that." His hands reaches down to grasp her arms. Violently, she jerked. His skin was near blistering. "Come here."
Before she could react—not that it would have helped anyways—he pulled her up against him, lifting her all the way to her tippy toes. Even then, she barely reached his midriff. The sides of her face, burning so horribly, and yet at the same time she couldn't pull away from it. His hands, she realized, were there. Lifting her face to his, he leaned in smoothly and Melantriche could not react on time to the singeing sensation of his lips.
He was a living flame, was what he was. Agony, is what it was, being kissed by this marvelous man. Agony, true, her own lips, blistering, but it was a soft kind of flame. If such a thing existed, his were moist and water-smooth, like brushing your lips against fresh, sweet cream. And sweet he was, sweeter than the honey he'd given to her. Sweeter than anything she'd ever tasted, something she couldn't very well describe even if she weren't frozen in shock. As she was, he easily invaded her mouth, his tongue, a whip of wet warmth pressed against her teeth, stroking back and forth, and slowly, Melantriche miraculously found puddles of bittersweet liquid building in her cavern. The feeling of it trickling to the back of her throat urged her, and she gulped it down desperately. Her jaws worked free of the gunk, sore from tight mold and disuse. But even as the wax melted away, she could feel the hotness of his tongue, prodding, testing the inter-workings of her mouth. To frightened to register, let alone pull away, Melantriche stood as rigid as a statue despite the terrible heat. She allowed him to kiss her, since he clearly had no reservations in stopping. And guilty as she was, how could she refuse him? A god, of all things?
Just when Melantriche was sure she would combust into flames, he let go of her. "That's better."
Not even half a second later, she fell straight to her knees again, her forehead pressing against the ground in a pose of utter humility. Words babbled out of her like a waterfall. She babbled without even realizing it. Her mouth, one step ahead of her throbbing brain, spouted the words that echoed in her mind since day one.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I know it was wrong! It was wrong, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! I didn't mean for it to happen, please! It was all my fault! Please don't punish Lyra! Take me instead! Please please, please, I'll do anything, please—,"
"Stop talking."
She couldn't help bawling, fists curling into tight white-knuckled balls. There were tears aplenty to drip onto the god's feet. She'd wash them with an entire tub of her tears if that's what he wished of her. She was sorry, she really was. More sorry than anything. It was true what Aegeus said, about their own lives. And she let them cover up her dirty tracks with their bodies, why wouldn't they be insignificant? But Melantriche loved Lyra, she knew that now. Poor Lyra, taken from her home and her family, stripped of her honor, was more deserving of mercy than anyone. But Melantriche didn't want to die, really didn't want to die. Was that such a bad thing?
But looking at this one, she wanted to. The way he stared at her made her wish she could sink back into the gelatin sea and die. It wasn't a heated, carnal stare. Not like Belenis or Aegeus, or like he did in the agora back in Tigani, but a piercing, swallowing gaze that lay her even more bare than she was, as if he could see her inner flaws as well as the ones skin deep. She could feel that gaze burning into her crumpled, shaking form. How pathetic she must've looked, scrawny and naked and covered with wetness, yellow-teethed and her face a mess of tears, snot and saliva. Who in their right mind would have kissed her like this?
Finally, she heard a breathy sigh. "Melantriche, stop that. Melantriche, look at me. Please." Slowly, she looked up, breaths heaving and shaky. His face had that marble tightness to it. There was such a hardened to him that it seemed like the softer expression he wore now was nothing more than a mirage. But it was there. Melantriche blinked tears away. His voice tuned down a little. "I knew you were trouble from the start. You have me at a little disadvantage, don't you realize?"
She nodded frantically. She knew that, knew very well. But she wanted to live.
"You are a good girl, aren't you, Melantriche?" The strange heat in his eyes impaled her. "Yes, a very good girl indeed. You poor thing."
Words clawed their way up her throat without her meaning to. "Plea-please, my lord. I won't cause any trouble. I-I'm not..."
"Hush, please." A small, indiscernible flare of irritation flickered in the god's eyes and she shut up again. He seemed deep in thought, Not fancying the idea of her ruining his musings. "My poor sister... she's in such a fuss over you, you know. It's almost amusing really. Do you realize how hard it is to rile her so?"
Sister? Melantriche's mouth opened and closed like a fish, eyes big as saucers. The pieces fit together perfectly, it seemed. What other god could be this golden? The humiliation was as tangible as a knife wound now, and now she really wished that she could just die now. His kiss still scorched her mouth. A strange numb dizziness fell over her as their eyes searched each other.
"Hah... it was a mistake, sending me. I was too sloppy, and now I've ended up liking you a bit."
"L... liking... me?" The words came out as a squeak. He chuckled.
"Yes, you. Forget that." He made a beckoning motion. "Get up."
She did, albeit shaking immensely and tripping over herself in an effort to. She still crossed her hands over herself, body burning from the cold and the heat at the same time. His hand reached out to her, ghosting over her naked shoulder, her arm, her belly. Shock bolted through her and she twitched, struggling to find breath. It didn't escape him.
"I was planning to kill you anyway," he purred, a strange husky sound, "but... change of plans. Come here."
She obeyed. His wrapping his heated arms around her chilled little body couldn't stop the terrified shaking. She didn't know what was going on, only that... somehow by the grace of the fates—by Apollo—she was being spared. For now.
"Wh-What are you going to do to me?" She whimpered. She could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
"Don't think you've been let off so easily. I still intend to keep my world to my sister. However..." he sped around on one foot, walking into the dark unknown confidently, Melantriche still under his arm. He purred huskily in her ear, eliciting cold shivers down her spine,
"You'll be taking your punishment my way."
Uhh, yea. Should have gotten this out earlier but I was distracted. But hey, we have finally built up the story to the place in which it's actually meant to begin, hahaha... only took about 21 chapters to do it, damn me. But now the story is actually going to begin, and we should be excited, though maybe not too excited because now I'm probably going to start getting writers block again lol.
Also I'd like to get a bit of feedback as to whether I should include smut in this book—because as you can see, the dirtiness is about to start—or should I just publish the smut separately. Tell me in the comments on how you feel.