Chava started off twisting the fringes of her ruined dress, and when they became frayed she itched at her arms and hands. If she stopped for even a moment her teeth clattered. Why, oh why was she so cold? Even though the room she felt confined to was generally warm—the fireplace was lit— she felt an awful chill in her bones that just wouldn't go away. Her head was clammy and the god who stole her away decided, unsurprised, that she had a fever. The many quilts thrown over her didn't help at all, the idea of the soup they promised to send up only serving to create another wave of nausea over her. Buried in blankets, she huddled into herself and tried to make sense of it all. She hadn't been sure who they were. The features of the person were delicate yet stone, but greatly appealing no matter which gender they had been. Then, her, realizing her predicament, knew that it was a he. Hades, Lord of the Dead. And this was the underworld. He had abducted her. What he could possibly want with someone like her, she could only surmise it was her gift. But when he kissed her, she'd never felt anything so soft... A fear pulsed through her of what he was intending to do, but he pulled away. He said something and then that's when she became feverish. None of it seemed to make sense.

Regardless, the one prevalent thought that went through her was that she had to escape. Even if he acted kind now, she heard stories of the relentless king of the underworld. Most of them, for the heroes, did not end well. But how? He tricked her into eating the forbidden food, and anyways, how could one run from death? She tossed and turned, somehow feeling more sick than she'd ever had in her whole life.

But she was still alive...

After some minutes she worked herself from bed, a quilt still wrapped around her. From the window she could see a cliff opposite full of ruins and fire and little smears of white—ghosts, she thought. There was no sunlight, just blackness, and even more at the bottomless cavern below. Perhaps... with fingers that didn't feel like hers, she pressed against the window knob. Click. It eased open with only a slight eerie creak.

It wasn't as if she hadn't been planning this before, but there was no river here. And to go on in a place as devoid as this made her feel like dying. But then, she already couldn't leave, so what was the point? Perhaps, in this way, she could escape to another layer of the afterlife. Hadn't she been a good, obedient woman all these years? She deserved this final selfishness. She struggled onto the windowsill, shaking like a leaf, then stood. Fear was an effective drug. Inhaling the damp breeze, she felt a jarring mix of terror and exhilaration. She had her hands raised and then, before another part of her caused her to lose her nerve, jumped.

Someone screamed and it wasn't her. Pain exploded across her arm and she shrilled, feeling as though the limb would be torn off by the iron grip that kept her from falling to her death. The wind was icy cold now, her eyes watering as she looked up to see the god, his young face frozen in horror. He was the only thing between her and death. He was going to let go...

Then, with a strength beyond any she felt before, he jerked her up over the windowsill. She landed on the floor with a thud, echoing with an air of finality. She was trapped. He wouldn't let her go. She heard him speaking at her with a distressed voice. "So that's it? You'd rather die than be with me?" He sounded furious. He also sounded like he was on the verge of weeping. It sent a volt of shock through Chava. She had always heard the Lord of the Dead's name spoken in hushed voices, with dread. Even that was taboo, and the priests teetered between heresy and divinity just from even uttering Hades. That was a testament of a ruthless entity, not this fragile boy who curled on the floor next to her. The idea of it was so appalling she wanted to weep for him too. She waited there for a long minute, waiting for him to lash out, to hit her, or to scream, or, or... something. But it never came. So she sat up, scooted closer and put tentative fingers against his shoulder. He leaned against her. A shiver overtook her, a sob stuck in her throat.

"I'm sorry."