Little Saint Bride [Death and the Maiden, #1]

Chapter Three: The Underworld

A/n: Media from the last chapter was Proserpine by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, painted in 1874. Proserpine is the Roman term for the well-known Goddess Persephone (Greek), who was kidnapped (literally. Whilst she was out havin' a ball with some gals) by Hades to live in the Underworld with him. After some debate, Hades agrees to free her, but before she can leave she eats the fruit shown in the picture, and is trapped for half the year (during winter) in the Underworld.

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When I awaken, my mouth tastes of sea salt and the world seems foggy.

Heaving, I roll onto my belly, my head performing pirouettes as I do so. My hands grasp cold, earthen floor, stones scratching at my fingernails. When I hear a groan, it takes a few moments to realise that it's my voice, croaking and weak.

Shivering, I prop myself up slowly onto my elbows and then to my knees. To my intense displeasure, I'm still wearing my goddamn wedding dress. Thankfully, it is ruined; dropping leagues beneath the water level and then being washed up onto a musty, charcoal bank did wonders to spoil white ivory. My hair is knotted around my head, plaits that were once neat are now stuck together with seaweed and foam. I'm picking off my wet accessories and chucking them when it sinks in that I'm alive.

You did expect to be, I think.

There's still some fog around, but I can see a barren wasteland around me, filled with odd bits of rubble and bare, spindled trees. An odd light in the distance makes me think of the sun, and daylight, but somehow, I know it isn't. And, stretching before me lies a massive, tumbling, churning, white-water-rapids river.

'How typical,' I remark. 'I hope Mercer still has those coins...'

He may yet come in useful. That reminds me...where is he?

That's when I listen, and realise that above the roaring sound of the river, I can hear a faint sobbing sound. I step towards it, hobbling in heels across an uneven surface, until I locate the boy, standing waist-height in the river and looking very much like he's about to drown himself for a second time.

'Hey! What are you doing? Hey!'

He doesn't even turn. The sobs just get louder. Rolling my eyes, I pull off my heels and wade into the river after him.

The current immediately lures me.

I hear voices...voices and music. I can't make anyone out in particular, but I have a feeling that I know them. If I just follow the river— if I let it take me with it—

Just lie down, I think. Haven't I been through enough? All this pain. All that torture. I should take a moment to relax...

'Nerissa,' says a voice, 'Nerissa, it's me. Don't you want to see me again? Nessie, you're nearly there.'

Who?

The nostalgic music continues, rising into a drumming beat that seems to flow in between the rhythms of the water and the blood in my veins. A pulse in my temple throbs. I step further, until my hips are immersed in the water, and I know that if I let myself float now, I wouldn't be able to get back. The river would catch me, and hold me, and not let go.

And I feel relief.

'Nessie, please, hurry!'

Nate's voice.

It has the opposite effect. Like someone clapping in my ear, I blink away the temptation. I miss Nate like hell, but he's the closest reminder I have to why I'm here.