la belle dame sans merci | carlisle cullen

24

It took a long time for Minerva to pick herself up off the snowy ground. Staring into the vacant eyes of the dead deer for a long time.

Why couldn't her time had come in the seventies? Why now? Why this century? Soon was a very relative term for the immortal, especially a god. It could mean anything. Months, years, decades. It gave her something to dread. Gods only knew what 'Not-Soon' meant.

Worst of all, Minerva knew Hecate couldn't be trusted. Not even a little. She wouldn't put it past the spiteful god to deceive her, to put her on edge to put her back into her past brutality. Minerva refused to lose her humanity like that again.

In spite of the strength, the raw magic power barely containing itself inside her, she stumbled back to the house. The wound on her arm had closed already, late stage scabbing already beginning. Her heart was heavy, a nearly unbearable weight. It drug behind her like a ball and chain around her ankle.

The frustration would come eventually. A vexation like no other, she could guess. For now, she was just tired. It was odd. Usually after a communion with Hecate, she was bouncing off the walls.

The bag dropped from her hand as soon as she was through the threshold of the house, she carried forward, more husk than human. She crashed into the couch, the nearest soft surface and found herself unconscious on impact.

The dream that awaited her was vivid, it was like she hadn't even closed her eyes. It was a memory but while she was in the throes of it, it was too real to even realize it was a dream. Though logic should have told her.

"You think I'm selfish. Drunk with power, don't you?" The woman asked and for a moment, Minerva thought she was the one being spoken to. She opened her mouth to respond and someone else's voice answered.

"I know you're selfish and power drunk, mother."

Minerva turned to the sound and her heart throbbed. Her grandmother stood there, two small children protectively tucked behind her with their tiny fists gripping her sides. She was younger here than Minerva could ever remember her being. Face only lined by stress and wisdom rather than age.

Her eyes dropped to the boy on her grandmother's left side, his face pressed into her shirt to hide . Sandy brown hair tousled standing up in every direction. Him, she'd know anywhere. It was Mars, which meant.. her eyes turned to the girl on the other side. She didn't hide her face like her brother did, her grey eyes were wide and staring at the woman ahead of her, her dark hair was pulled back in a tidy braid. Minerva was looking at herself.

"Everything I do," the woman said sharply, reminding Minerva she was there, "everything I have ever done. It's always been for this family. Everything."

Minerva paced closer, examining the woman closely. Minerva saw a lot of herself in that face, the same straight nose, the same hazy grey eyes though hers had a green ring around them. She realized then what she was reliving. The first time she'd crossed paths with her great grandmother.

"You don't speak to the goddess, Melina. I do. You don't know the horrors she predicts. You don't see into her mind the way I do." Her great grandmother scowled, "I am protecting you."

"You have lost your mind. You're depriving them their birthright for your own selfish means. You care nothing for this family or you would help us." Her gran snarled, "You come back now, why? To torture me some more? You think I don't hear the stories of your terror, mother? I know that is not required."

Her great grandmother closed her eyes, a blissful smile on her lips, "Not required but appreciated. You think I wouldn't like to meet my great grand children? Look at how they grow." Her grandmother gripped the children, forcing them further behind her. Still tiny Minerva peered around the side, curious and scared.

"I see it in this one." Her great grandmother's finger pointed at her, "What's your name child?"

Small Minerva glanced up at her grandmother to ask for permission which she begrudgingly granted. "Minerva." The girl said, barely loud enough to hear.

"Minerva," The old-young woman mused, "A wise name for a wise girl. How old are you?"

Again, Minerva looked up at her grandmother for permission. "Six." She whispered.

"Six years old. Aren't you beautiful." Minerva tucked her face against her grandmother's side, "You'll be just like me someday, Minerva."

Her grandmother was affected by this, face altering. "You have plans to give it up?" She breathed in disbelief.

"No sooner than I must. When her time has come. Where is Aurelia at a time like this?" Her great grandmother asked.

"She's near." Her grandmother growled, "Leave, mother. You're scaring the children."

"You're not scared of me, are you Minerva?"

Glancing back at herself, she found the child looking much less scared than she was. A look of wonder replaced it. It made Minerva, the real-ish Minerva, frown.

"This is Hecate's champion, Melina. Like it or not. You must prepare her or I will."

Suddenly, Minerva was awake. Jolting upright in her bed, covered in a layer of cold sweat. It wasn't a nightmare but she trembled, catching her breath and running frustrated hands through her hair.

"What the fuck was that?" She whispered to herself. Minerva dreamed when she slept, almost every time. Usually unfavourable or just bizarre dreams. Nightmares of the worst times usually. Never anything like this. Something so mundane, something she couldn't have remembered ever happening before now. A sinking feeling told her Hecate was behind it. A worse feeling told her it wouldn't be the last.