The Hades Throne

Chapter 23 - Falling Into Fear

Cygnet Museum of Mythology holds something pompous about it. The walls bring their heads high over mine, with eyes that think of me for how I look.

The wet soles of my boots make a round of fabricated squeaking as they ride the linoleum floor. It's all I can hear, and it even manages to steal my thoughts. I keep walking.

Hastily, I try to push away the guilt in my chest. Walking up to the lady in the booth, I buy a ticket for myself. Now I can hear Isabelle and I's agreement in my head, sounding loudly in the respectful silence.

"We'll meet there on Saturday. We can figure out what we need to do then." She has said, describing our arrangement to meet at the museum.

It is Friday, not Saturday, and Isabelle isn't behind me. For along with the pompous attitude, the museum is riddled with holes of danger and secrets. I can feel it now, as I walk through the halls framing pictures of gods and goddesses. I felt it before, when Isabelle's finger marked the museum on the map.

Too many people I care for have died by me. This is something that I will do alone.

I pass a couple of school groups on my way in. They talk lightly and simply, compacted into groups of three or four. There is something off about them, though, and as I walk, I run my mind over what it could be.

As I walk, the sound falls into the walls. Thick with small displays and information plaques, it's hard to miss how quiet the museum is. It's almost eerie how even the sound of my breath is torn away from my ears.

"Odd." I mutter to myself, feeling shivers rake down my spine. I pull out my phone, checking for a sign. The screen is blank though, and I notice the small white words in the top corner. No Service. I sigh.

Without direction, I move through the galleries. I stop at a case of vases, feigning interest in the small blurb set into the case.

"It's called an amphora." A shadow crosses down across my face, and I look over to see a boy, maybe a few years older than me. He is dressed in a dark green uniform, the uniform of the Cygnet Museum. He smiles, but it is somewhat darker than it should be.

"It's-uh-nice." I respond. I wonder his age briefly, and look to the scruff around his mouth as a tell.

"I know what you're thinking." I raise my eyebrows, playing back lightly. "You're thinking it's a vase."

I begin to edge away. "But it is a vase." I emphasize, moving away from the case and the boy, sweeping over to a wall display. I trace my eyes along the lines of the figure chipped into the stone, at the weathering and the short beauty.

To my dismay, the museum employee has followed me. I glare, but he doesn't seem to take the hint. "Greek mythology is a fascinating topic. Most people don't think so, but I believe it applies to our everyday life, like all history."

Something rings over the intercom, a series of bells that make the quiet halls seem like the Grand Canyon. I feel inexpressibly small.

"Gotta go. I'm sure to see you soon."

I watch his emerald back as we goes from the room. The room feels so much smaller, like the world's elastic has sprung back into its correct shape. I wander around the room, not sure exactly what I am looking for, or even what I had been expecting.

So I just hope that I'll know it when I see it.

With hands in pockets, and a tune slipping from my mouth to rid the emptiness, I journey to another exhibit.

With just one step into the room, I have fallen back in time. Built around me like hopes are ancient Greek buildings, looking into a central market. Wax figures dressed in draped cloth are poised, frozen in another age.