Fingers stained black

Chapter 19

Adora

Ushering Brone and Mora through one of the side doors, disguised in the outer wall of my mother's home, I struggle to close the door after me. Persephone has already entered the party and is making her usual rounds. My heels clip against the stone floor as I run after the gods in front of me, lifting up my gown so that I do not trip over it.

Brone, of course, picked out my dress. It is nothing like I have ever worn before. It is a dark red that appears almost black in the lighting of the shadowed hallway. The top crisscrosses over, with a deep neckline that showcases my breasts. Strong shoulders that follow down into long sleeves. There is a small belt around my waist before it flows out, still structured but easy to move in. To fight in. A slit runs up to my thigh, showcasing the black heels that have strings that criss-cross up my shin.

Coming to a stop at the end of the hallway, Brone pushes open the door. We are standing in an empty hallway, completely void of people. It takes only a moment before I am guiding Mora and Brone to the ballroom and we are pushing our way through the crowds of gods and servants. My mother stands in the middle, basking in the attention of the gods around her.

'Mother', I think with distaste.

The word, which once brought me so much comfort, now leaves me with nothing but numbness. I have no feelings for the woman who raised me. My love for her, which once played such a vital part in my life, has been diminished by her actions. Indifference- the only feeling I have towards her. She raised me for years, only to keep me away from the world so that she may still be the most beautiful.

We blend into the crowd, inconspicuous amongst the lavishly dressed gods that surround us. Bending our heads together, we go over the plan once again.

"I'll disappear, find our father and bring him up here before you even have time to fight," Mora confirms before turning away and disappearing into the crowd behind her.

Brone turns to me, grasping my hand in his. Bringing his lips to it, I send him a soft smile. Our role is to play the happy couple until my mother finds us in the crowd. The orchestra begins to play; a gentle tune that has people clasping hands and moving to the dance floor in a second. Pulling me to his body, Brone pulls me to the dance floor and bows to me.

We begin our dance in quiet, neither of us talking as we play through the steps that we memorised so long ago. Swaying back and forth in time with the music, we never quite make contact with one another until the tempo picks up. Brone crushes my body to his in the most disreputable way, and I pull away before anyone sees. A blush creeps up my neck as our feet move in time to the music.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

As we dance, my mind drifts back to when we first learnt the dance. I was 12 winters old; I had been ecstatic for my first real dance lesson. Since it was only the three of us, Brone and I had to dance together. Mora danced with the teacher after refusing to dance with her brother, screaming about him having 'boy germs'. So, I was paired with Brone.

I had made it my mission to step on his toes as often as I could. We both knew that I excelled at dancing, my feet moved in perfect unison with the music and my body swayed along to the rhythm. He never once complained about me stepping on his toes, though. Instead, he would hold my hand tighter and simply continue dancing.

Nobody dared speak a word as we danced, besides Mora who rattled on and on to the teacher about different techniques. I am rather certain she had a crush on the instructor- she rather looked like Penelope.

Now, as I look up at Brone, I allow my foot to linger slightly and apply a gentle pressure to his feet before continuing with the dance. I don't miss a beat as he looks down at me with a smirk. Offering a smile of my own and giggling, he spins me around. Pulling me back in, he cradles me to his chest, but I do not pull away this time. Instead, I let him lead me through the dance with my head resting on his chest, only detaching from him when the dance calls for it.