A God's Mercy (Apollo x OC)

Chapter 22

Concerning anyone who had ever been jerked out of a deep sleep, who knows if it could have compared to the alarm that jolted Melantriche out of her eternal rest. Perhaps it could have easily been compared to an infant being pushed out into the harsh world, filled with blinding light and shouting and the dryness and the cold— oh, so cold.

Slim tendrils of searing heat, wrapping around what she thought might be her wrist, and the grip was startlingly strong. Maybe it was because she had been there so long, she had merged in with the onyx nothing and that's why it hurt so much to be pulled out all too quickly from it. Breaking the surface of the room she was thrust into the air, then, feeling her feet slap against the ground, found no solid solace. She was bounced back into the air and down again, slipping and landing on her hands and knees. Sobbing, noisily sucking up thick frosty air, coughing up something that, at best could be described as solidified water, she came to a rude awakening that she may or may not have forgotten how to breathe properly. Her hands slid out from underneath her, to and fro. Almost fascinated, she dug into the squishy, slippery substance with the tips of her toes and palms. Maybe it wasn't a room, or endless at all, but an ocean made of something like... gelatin. And she had been imprisoned beneath it.

Through the slips of her soaking hair, slivers of an unimaginable something poured through, burning her eyes. Even if she shut her lids tight, the red glow behind them still blared angrily. It was not easy, registering light after years buried in the darkness, and never with this sort of light, a kind which the likes of a normal human might never see. At dawn, a solid orb of passionate red. All day, bright and white and dazzling. In the evening, liquid dripping pools of mauve and orange and soft pink, sweet and pleasant to look at. It... took exactly that amount of time to adjust to his aura. Teeth chattering, chilly breath ghosting out between her dripping chapped lips, her eyes squinted, struggling to stay open from the cold. But the light almost seemed to reach out to her, and the closer you looked at it, you realized it had a face...

The god compelled her to stay alert. It was a familiar face, one that brought cold shivers down her spine but somehow, the bleak memories didn't do this glorious creature a single bit of justice. He was tall, lean yet muscular, with smoothly burnished skin the color of sun-kissed wheat. The lines that made up his face were solid and tangible, perfectly chiseled features like marble. A small hero nose, faceted blue eyes the color of the teal ocean waves when the sun sparkled against them, the fair eyebrows, the wavy blond hair—so blond. Each strand seemed to glow separately, pale and flaxen and purely aureate, down to the roots. Never, in all her existence, did Melantriche ever see anyone with such hair. And his mouth...

Suddenly, Melantriche had to fight the urge to throw up. Her limp hands slapped uselessly against her hot, pounding temples, the sudden memories assailing as if to stone her. Flashes of white, red, and green exploded in her already-blurry vision as she strained to continue balancing herself.

The feeling of dread, the irritability.

A bulging pouch of gold coins. The sting of sticky glass blades slapping against her legs. The heat of a hundred bodies screaming for half-off prices, the stench of coriander, sweat, of pigs in the pen. The tall boulder of a middle-aged man, sheathed in iron and iron-faced. His cruel hands, his cruel voice...

Sweet taste of honey. A dazzling smile. His hands. His smile. That smile.

He was smiling at her now. A strange, sublime and terrible smile as his sparkling eyes flickered over her. She could not comprehend the way she felt, following his eyes down onto herself and for a dumb minute, she had to process that she was, in fact, very naked. Her arms seemed to snap to attention, clumsy and numb and blue from the cold, her fingers desperately clasping at her wet breasts, her rosy nipples peaked and taut from the cold. She slid onto her bottom, her knees crossed in such a way that he wouldn't be able to see in between them. The painful heat of humiliation scorched her cheeks. The god merely threw back his head slightly and laughed, an alien noise to Melantriche. At most, it could be compared to an echoing, dry crackle of burning wood. Positioning his hard gaze on Melantriche again, he took a step forward. Melantriche flinched; to see a figure so solid, moving was almost inconceivable to her. He came closer, and closer, till he looked right above her, simulating a near colossal pillar of bright light. If she chose, she could lean forward and kiss his perfect feet if she chose. He stood with his broad, muscled shoulders back, his spine loose and confident. He seemed to eye her with an artist's touch, crossing his arms and bringing a hand to his chin in a mock-thinking pose. He tutted.