Fingers stained black

Chapter 1

Adora's POV

The sound of wheels grinding over the gravel road and horses hooves slamming onto the ground echoes throughout the carriage. The stars overhead shine down, illuminating the pathway to Athena's house. My mother sits, impatiently staring out of the window. Her hand had found mine in the darkness some time ago, she would occasionally apply pressure, reassuring me that she was there. She wouldn't be for much longer, I remind myself. My mind tells me to treasure these last few moments that I have with my mother before she allows me to see her again. But I cannot seem to find it within myself to talk to her.

Watching the empty fields, I know that this is where people train. Where they train for battle. Where I will train for battle. I have not been able to sleep since that evening. I can still feel the way his nose cracked underneath my foot. It made me sick.

In the distance, I can just about make out the outline of greenhouses. I do hope that I would be able to continue my research. When you spend all day locked up in a classroom with only two other children, it seems you develop strange interests. Mine just so happens to be botany. I could tell you just the right amount of bananas it would take to kill somebody. It is the one pleasure that is not ladylike that I allow myself. My mother would throw a fit if she were to find out about what I really do in my lab.

Although I despise the idea of killing someone in combat, I find the art of poison rather elegant. Healing is respectable, I suppose. But, it just does not hold the same appeal that poison does. Watching as an unsuspecting soldier falls victim to something so simple, like a simple cookie.

Not many know of my distasteful enthusiasm for poison. Only two people. Brone and Mora. Mora has often been in my lab with me, encouraging me to make antidotes. Albeit, that is only because Brone is often the test subject for my poisons. Too bad gods have a healing ability that can withstand even my most poisonous treats, even if the pain is still the same. That doesn't stop me from trying, though.

I turn to face my mother again, expecting her to be facing the window but, instead, her soft eyes are focused on me. Taking this time to do the same, I let my eyes drift around her face, drinking in all that I can like a starved man. Her familiar white dress and the way she only roughed the very apples of her cheeks. As my eyes drift up to meet hers again, I see the glimmer of a tear in her eye. No words are exchanged as she reaches across the carriage to bring me into a tight hug. As the carriage comes to a slow, however, instead of letting go, her grip on me becomes tighter.

"Promise me that you will not give up." She whispers to me, pulling away so that she could grip my face in her soft hands, just like she did just yesterday. "Fight for me, little dove."

She pulls away just as there is a knock on the carriage door. Opening it, I take the hand of the timid servants and shakily step onto the grass-covered ground, the grass crunching under my bare feet. Another carriage pulls up behind ours.

The black carriage is lined with intricate details the colour of the darkest red. Pictures of dying flowers, crumbling underneath themselves and the sun dying is painted onto the carriage in an elegant fashion, but that does not take away from the disturbing pictures that it paints. As the door opens, I catch a glimpse of the same ominous red colour lining the walls and floor of the cabin. The person who steps out, however, is far scarier than any painting. Brone, Hades son.

He is wearing an all-black suit that clings to his muscular body and goes taut as he runs a hand through his wavy hair that falls back down to cascade around his face. His black hair somehow falls around his face, framing it perfectly. His fingernails are painted red, contrasting with his black clothes as he straightens them out with a single tug. The soft moonlight shines down on him, creating sharp shadows over his face that make him look like a perfectly chiselled marble statue. Wait- no. An ugly chiselled statue. Oh, who am I kidding? The man is literally a greek god.