MELODRAMA ... heroes of olympus

003. greed is easily devoured

chapter three

greed is easily devoured. 

The pull to darkness was a tethered string Arden was unsure how to sever.

Scissors did not seem appropriate, neither did a dagger.

Maybe she could pull at it, unravelling layer upon layer of realms she did not wish to become conscious of. Slice through valleys of shadows and graveyards alike, releasing them from their sins and vanquishing them to a feat worse than death. Maybe it was a yearning to let go. Of this grief, this anger, this sadness, everything that made her what she was - it needed to be cut, it needed to wash away like water coating her body in a vague brittle cleansing.

But Arden was nothing if not a hinderance to herself. It wasn't that she was particularly fond of the shadows, no, but still her fingertips ached for release. It was omnipresent, this gut feeling, this turmoil and raw agony. She couldn't help it. And really, she wasn't all that sure she wanted too. It was all so inviting, comforting even. Arden's ribcage was fermented with ink and charcoal, a diamond rusted and unwilling to be bleached clean.

Her hands weren't clean, they were stained crimson.

They always have been Arden.

It was a low hiss, but it didn't startle her, not like it used too. When she was a girl, Arden had a reoccurring dream. One of death and destruction and desolation. A dream that, no matter where she was, would always find her. In sickness and in health, a miserable vow was sent to seek her out and plague her with terror whenever destiny so much as pleased.

She was thirteen when she realised it wasn't a dream, and even worse it wasn't a nightmare.

It was her reality.

Arden could feel it now, brooding in the chill of the bathroom. Porcelain tiles and sharp mirrors reflecting pieces of herself she'd rather keep hidden. Her hands, fragile and shaking, gripped the sides of the bathtub. She winced as she did so, the wilting of her hand exemplified by the mauve bruises that dusted her knuckles.

It was morning, birdsong told her so. Arden's night of blinding lights and swollen fists was over. Now all that was left was the brittle pieces of misplaced arrogance and unspoken resentment that sunk into her gums. Her body shivering in the water she bathed in. Arden was bleary-eyed and half-clinging to slumber, a reflection of the dull sky outside.

The clouds danced in overcast, bordering on grey. Zeus was taunting her surely. Maybe he thought it humorous, he never was her biggest fan, but even then, that seemed a little too cruel. Though, to be truthful, Arden wouldn't put it past the Gods to toy with their loyal dogs.

Practically foaming at the mouth, wanting to be loved by cold, heartless, selfish parents. Waiting to be wanted, like a dog with a bird at their door, Demigods were willing and eager to please their lineage. Or they were supposed to be, Arden never had, she thought it all rather meaningless. They were worth more than the tattered scraps of love they were fed.

It was silly, the love she craved, it was all so silly because really love was nothing more than a morbid manipulation hidden beneath a blindingly grim guise of devotion and hope. Arden cared more for crushing the hope between her teeth like a pomegranate seed, painting her hollow in a flush of red. 

Greed is so easily devoured, she could hardly tell when she had switched love for anger. 

But, it didn't matter, it was still restless in the pit of her belly. Arden feasted on her hatred and had let it grow into an avalanche of wrath that was directed woefully at her father. It was an all-consuming fury that brought forth sneers and freezing stares. It sent her skin crawling as she lowered her face into the water, a gulp of air consumed as she delved deeper into the bathtub, eager to escape her thoughts.