Themis lives in the crawlspaces between worlds. When you've spent your whole life living in one house, it becomes your universe, and each room becomes a world of its own. Themis, who's only room was a dusty, neglected nursery, had taken the gaps between galaxies as her own. Nobody seemed to love them, or pay much mind to them, so Themis did.
She remembers clearly how she found it. Adonis, tall as ever, had bumped his head into the wall, stumbling around, unused to this new body where his limbs were long and his hands were heavy.
"Fuck!" he swore, covering his head and stumbling away.
Themis, who had been crouched behind the couches, playing with dust bunnies and a worn rag doll, peered around the corner. Adonis suffered from no blood, barely a bruise, and the only damage done to the house was a crumbling corner of the age-old tiles.
After ensuring that Adonis was fine, Themis had crept to the corner of the wall that had fallen. The tiles were patterned with blue print, various domestic scenes of girls in rounded skirts and bonnets chasing after dogs or scooping water from a well. The chip on the floor, scattered among bits of plaster, held a single flower that matched into the patterned border of the tile.
Themis curled her fingers around it, holding it up for inspection. Once Adonis had left the room, still swearing and complaining, she tiptoed out from behind her couch. The corner was high up, but when she balanced on the arm of the sofa, she could reach just barely.
She slid the chipped corner into the missing space, filling the gap. She pressed a little harder, making sure it fit, when she heard a click.
A soft hiss, and something slid open. Beneath the couch, a black, empty square opened up, a mouth begging to be fed.
Themis could remember the feeling of being swallowed by the darkness, sliding into those soft jaws, and slipping into the black. It felt like going home.
Now, she crouches in the labyrinth she has grown, eyes peering between wooden slots. She can see Rhea, bent over a poster, working meticulously with a ruler to keep her lines straight. Funny, because she is anything but. Themis pokes her fingers through the gaps in the radiator, nudging a black Sharpie to roll forward, just as Rhea looks up.
"Where's my-- oh," Rhea grabs the Sharpie and uncaps it with her teeth, tracing her pencilled lines.
Themis slips away, satisfied.
The next room is the other two triplets'. Theo is curled up in his desk chair, typing with a soft clacking on his phone, his soft smile illuminated by the blue. Crius is rearranging his records, stacking them in order of favourite to least. For a few moments, Crius is actually peaceful, not battling some demon who haunts him. Themis isn't needed here, not like usual, when she slithers from the gap under the desk to put his iPod just within reach as he twitches in the throes of some furious war. Theo is put at peace by Crius, and a happy Theo is a happy Crius.
Themis moves on, creeping through the passageways behind her siblings' rooms.
Kronos is the one Themis must try hardest to be kind to. She loves him, that is always the truth, but she can't help but tremble when it's just her and Kronos and the dark. Too many memories from not so long ago threaten to creep up.
But just as Crius blasts his monsters away with rock and deadly pop songs, Themis must fight her ghosts with small gifts and little steps towards forgiveness. She knows that Kronos fights a battle, too. She just happened to be a casualty.
For a seven year old, Themis has found just how wise she can be.
Kronos sits, blue lighting his features, as he clicks and stares into a computer. She does not know what he does. Sometimes it's a game, and she can hear the firing rattle of a machine gun. Sometimes it's another kind of thrill, with blurs of flesh on a screen she closes her eyes to. Today, though, he simply stares at a photo.
