The Snow That Refused To Melt

The Snow That Refused To Melt

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Fri, Jan 31, 2025
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Fiction
Fantasy
Neve was never meant to step into the realm of the dead. She was powerless, fragile-nothing but a ghost of a girl lost in a cruel world. But when tragedy strikes, Hades himself takes her under his protection, pulling her into the depths of his kingdom. The underworld is not what she expected. Whispers crawl through the shadows, secrets linger behind every smile, and Hades-cold, unreadable, impossibly powerful-becomes the only one she can trust. Until she can't. When betrayal shatters the fragile life she built, Neve is forced to seek refuge in the one place she never should have gone-in the arms of Hades' greatest enemy. A man who is nothing like the villain she was warned about. A man who might just be the key to unlocking the truth about who she really is. Because Neve is not powerless. She never was. And in the game of gods and monsters, even a lost girl can bring the world to its knees.
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#29
darkpowers
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Enver Williams is leading on a normal life but that is all ripped away from her when she is taken from her home town. When Enver comes to realize that there are others like her in more ways than one, she is determined to free herself and her newfound friends from the physiological torment of her closely supervised enclosure. ••• "Do I make you nervous, Enver?" Another idiotic question. "Wouldn't the man who kidnapped you and threatened to kill you make you nervous?" I snap at him. He only smiles an odd, crooked grin. I can make that disappear. "Wouldn't a murder make you nervous?" Now it's my turn to pull the strings. He looks at me with hurt in his eyes. "How many times do I have to say it?" He pauses, I guess hoping for some sort of mercy in my eyes, "I didn't kill her." "Liar!" I shout. "Why won't you believe me?!" "Would you believe yourself?" "It wasn't me who shot her," he sits on a stool, resting his elbows on his knees. "Then how do you know she was shot?" "I saw it. I saw him kill her," his voice was riddled with such pure vulnerability and pain it begged me to believe him. "Who?" I try to sound sympathetic, but it comes out as scared. Maybe, subconsciously, I am scared.

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