Echoes of Olympus; The Return of the Forgotten Gods

Chapter 9

Seraphina's POV

The oppressive weight of the night hung over the small, dilapidated house like a shroud. Shadows flickered eerily across the walls, cast by the lone, sputtering candle that was the room's only light. The scent of alcohol was pervasive, mingling with the musty odor of neglect. It was as if the very walls were steeped in despair, the air thick and suffocating.

In another part of the village, I was left alone with my father. The smell of alcohol hung in the air, thick and acrid, wrapping around me like a noose. My father had been drinking more than usual, and his behavior had become erratic. That night, his eyes held a dangerous glint, and I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Seraphina," he slurred, staggering towards me. "You're so beautiful, just like your mother."

My heart pounded as I backed away, the familiar fear tightening my chest like a vise. "Father, please, you're not yourself. You need to rest."

But he didn't listen. Instead, he grabbed my arm with a roughness that made me wince. "Don't tell me what to do," he growled, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol. "You're mine, Seraphina. Do you understand?"

Panic surged through me, and I struggled to free myself from his grip. "No, Father! Let me go!" But his hold was unyielding, his fingers digging into my flesh like iron claws.

The room seemed to close in around me, the flickering shadows dancing mockingly at the edges of my vision. I couldn't breathe. My thoughts spiraled into chaos, each one a dagger of terror. Why? Why do men always see me as something to possess, to control? Even my own father, the one person who should protect me, reduces me to nothing more than a reflection of his twisted desires.

I hated them all. Every leer, every crude remark, every touch that felt like a brand on my skin. Men who saw beauty as something to conquer, never once considered the person beneath. And now, even my father had succumbed to that vile urge. It was as if the world was a grotesque carnival, and I was the prize they all sought to claim.

"Father, please," I pleaded, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear. "This isn't you. You're not like this."

But his eyes, bloodshot and wild, told me otherwise. "Don't you see?" he spat, dragging me closer. "You're mine, Seraphina. You always have been."

I tried to wrench myself free, but his grip tightened. I was trapped, the walls of our home turned into the bars of a cage. The panic rose, choking me, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

Why did it have to be like this? Why did my life always seem to spiral into these dark, inescapable corners? The room felt like a predator, its shadows waiting to consume me, and my father's breath was the foul stench of my despair. The candlelight flickered, casting grotesque shadows on the wall, and for a moment, I felt like I was drowning in the darkness of my own home.

His fingers were bruising, relentless. "You don't tell me what to do," he repeated, his voice a terrifying blend of slurred command and desperate need.

The fear was suffocating, a thick fog in my lungs. The room spun, the darkness closing in, and all I could think was that I was alone. Alone with this monster, who wore the face of the man I once called Father.

The sight of Dorian bursting through the door, eyes wide with shock, froze my blood. There I was, desperately trying to fend off my father, who was intent on doing me harm. I had forgotten that I had asked Dorian to come over tonight.

"Get away from her!" Dorian shouted, his voice shaking with fury.

My father turned, his face twisted in a drunken sneer. "This is none of your business, boy."