Out of the Lamp

Chapter 15: Silenced

As soon as it started, it ends.

Daemon leans back abruptly, leaving me breathless on the chair. He holds the back of his hand over his mouth and ... is that a no-

A blush?

His eyes avert from mine instantly. My own two focused solely on him as my face is currently relaxed in a slack jawed expression. Mystified. Stupefied more like.

What the hell had he just done?

But blush he did. The faint dusting of pink sweeping across his tanned skin. You don't live in hells fire without working up one hell of a tan, I tell you that. But the dead give away was the cracking and creaking sound coming from near his feet.

I look down to see the tiled floors splitting apart. The cracks in the floor snaking outwards in twisted, unpredictable directions. Roots and grass shoots sprouting from the soiled earth beneath. Working their way between his feet and toes. Small white daisies shot upwards from the damp earth, the petals unfurling with a twist; red chrysanthemums followed suit, the vibrant splash red a wonderful contrast to their snowy cousins. Finally, a lone yellow daffodil.

The smell of fresh grass and flowers diffused through the air. Bringing new life to the musty dimness of an otherwise depressing atmosphere.

'Shit.' Daemon mutters. Stomping a large and bare foot over the flowers. His annoyance palpable. They refused to bend to his will and only stood straighter, like natures soldiers, against his tyranny.

That's the thing with being the son of Persephone, goddess of spring and Queen of the underworld. Whenever a strong emotion overtook him, nature reacted to it. His aura fed the very life around him, as did worship to his mother once upon a time. I've seen this reaction only a few times before, when we were kids. When Daemon was happy more often, as is the blissful ignorance of a child. Wherever he took a step, the world beneath his feet would flourish. Grass and flowers, according to his mood, would spring forth. Leaving a trail of tufts and mounds of misplaced foliage and greenery. Bushels of oddly placed bouquets that could only be deciphered as the footsteps of a child.

Right now, he stood stock still, grunting and grimacing at the cracked floor; and the flowers that refused to die beneath his feet.

I opened my mouth to speak, '...'

What the-?

'...!'

Daemon stops abruptly and his head snaps up to meet my eyes that were widened with alarm.

'Ha, oh yeah, there it is!' He goads. The flowers forgotten. 'What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?' He sneers.

I close my mouth and open my mind to him. Feeling the familiar overwhelming despair of his own shadowed darkness, so close to mine. What did you do?

'Take a guess, little genie. I told you I'd silence that mouth of yours, did I happen to take something you want back?'

Oh my god. You didn't.

My mouth opens in a silent, unheard cry. A protest that falls deaf to my own ears.

'Hell yeah I did.' He leans forward, his mouth slightly parted and tongue tracing his bottom lip. 'And I enjoyed every second of taking it.' He stares, fixated on my mouth.