Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

[Rewritten!] Chapter Twenty Nine: Elysian Fields

Media is by cassiopeiaart on deviantart! Inspiration for someone's power...

I'm ready for something to happen. There's little doubt in my mind that whatever I am-- whoever I am-- it's about to have massive implications. Maybe Hadrian will have a three-sixty-degree change of heart and decide, because I'm Persephone, that he actually does love me.

(In that case, I would have to tell him that that would be infatuation, not love. I'm a romantic spoilsport and realist.)

Or maybe he'll cry in despair that his long awaited dream is actually his nightmare, and the girl he hates is supposed to be the girl he loves. 

Either solution makes me want to laugh out loud, a bubbling mirthless laugh to mask my own terror. 

I'm not prepared for the Moirai to say, 'That's it for today.'

'Leave by the back door, over there.'

'And take off those ridiculous suits.'

But remarkably, that triggers Hadrian's silence to shatter. Not the Persephone revelation. Not the curious vine along his arm. 

The biohazard suit. 

'Now, one second!' he shouts, his cheeks turning pink. 'These are mandatory! I am following regulations!'

He's screaming at the third Moirai. His face purples progressively, and he stomps forward until he's towering over them, a trembling ball of a man ready for an argument.

Who in Hell would pick a fight with that one? Only an idiot. Which is Hadrian.

And he's having a fight over wearing yellow overalls, for Elysium's sake. I roll my eyes, seeing the humour even in this bleak scenario.

Oh Gods, he's unzipping his suit, I think. Right to the bottom. If he carries on, he's going to be naked. He's that shocked that he's completely lost it, and will be thrown into Elysian version of prison for indecent exposure to the three Fates of our existence. 

Couldn't commit much worse of a petty offence, I muse. 

Thankfully, Hadrian isn't naked, but wearing a loose white shirt and black trousers underneath. The shirt hangs open at the middle, showing off his chest in a way that makes my stomach do little rolls of pleasure like a dog finding a nice patch of grass.

Regardless, he discards the yellow suit, mask and gloves on the floor with a flourish, leaving only the thick hiking boots. His hands are shaking.

No one says a word. The third Moirai glances at me, and I swear I get given a wink.

Once Hadrian's done, he stares at me expectantly. Sighing, I unzip my suit also-- having already removed the mask-- and step out of the thick, plastic material, leaving behind only my skinny legs in a short black jumpsuit. I mindsweep the headlight on the top of the mask, still feeling as if it were my lifeline. 

I'm also left in muck, blood and slime covered hiking boots. I look at them with distaste because they don't fit my feet, and squelching water is still soaking the innards. We have no other footwear, unless the Moirai keep a shoe closet.

I fold my arms. 'Are we going to talk about this?'

'Talk about what?'

I cross behind him, to where his yellow suit lies. Searching, I locate the arms and, finally, the lonely vine and tiny flower that had crept towards him. Something inside me feels pity for it, because if it is me-- if I did cause this flower to grow-- then I'd also inadvertently caused it to die when Hadrian ripped off the suit.