Hades

|Hope|

•CHAPTER FORTY-NINE•

It's been days. But I lost count with how many.

Days full of emptiness, a dull ache in the middle of my chest.

Hades was dead. Or trapped, or maybe lost? Something told me I was just denying the truth, but another part of me wouldn't stop fighting.

I felt nothing from him. The bond that was once there, the golden string that kept us drawn to one another was nonexistent. Stolen, as if from a thief in the night.

My growing powers also dimmed, something that made me feel so strong, now makes me feel so weak.

Currently, I told myself to just go with the flow. The taunts, the forcible dinners. There'd be no way I'd truly marry anyone else but my beloved. I've already planned an escape that would most likely end in my death, but what else do I have to live for?

Constant pampering, reminding of the impending marriage that'll take place tonight.

"I see you're all dressed and ready for the ball, dear." Hera waltzes in, every bit of evil that her significant other was.

I smile sweetly, "Yes. It's not like I'm being forced or anything."

She waves her hand, opening the window to allow the blinding sun to spread light within all corners in the room.

I chuckle ironically. It was a distinct contrast. The light in the room, compared to the shadows hiding within me. I was once light to someone, while he was my darkness. A perfect balance between two lovers. Now? I'm not just darkness. I'm an abyss, and I wouldn't let Zeus live through this.

"He's the God of War. You'd better get used to being.." she saunters close to me, placing her slithering cold hands on my shoulders while leaning down, "..forced into things." She squeezes my shoulders before releasing me.

I sigh, glancing up at her through the mirror, opening my mouth to retort but we're soon interrupted by a slight knock on the ajar door.

A tall man steps in, his blonde hair slicked back. His golden brown eyes zero in on me, trailing down my body before he glances towards Hera.

Any other time, I would've found him attractive and my type. His lips were pink, and shaped full. His jaw was sharp, and his cheek bones were high, taking me back to a memory of this insanely handsome Native American boy I had a crush on in the eighth grade.

"Mother," he greeted, his voice a deep, smooth baritone.

I scowl at him, and he raises an eyebrow at me questioningly.

"Oh, my darling son Ares!" She rushes to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "You're messing up tradition! You shall not see the bride before ceremony."

He clenches his jaw, his eyes flickering over to me once more. "Mother," he speaks in a lower tone, "..we've spoken about this."

"Nonsense Ares, and you know your father will have none of it. We should be lucky to be in this place of honor. This is the daughter of Uyate. All knowing." She snaps dismissively.