Sunshine and Serpents (Abandoned)

Unknown Lover

Owen

When Sang's (he refused to call her Persephone, refused to call any of them by their goddess' name) eyes opened, he did not see the lovely green that had ensnared him the moment he looked into. Instead, one eye was an unnatural green, the green of new spring grass, and the other was pitch black, and he couldn't tell the black of her iris apart from the black of her pupil.

And it was a little terrifying, to say the least.

When Kota had told him what goddess Sang was to host, he couldn't believe that the small, blonde haired girl would host Persephone, the Queen of the dead. He had read the ancient Greek myths about the little girl who was stolen from her mother and taken down into the Underworld, cursed to spend six months a year in Hell, and six months above ground with her mother. How she was crowned the Queen of the damned and the dead. How she threw her abusive husband into a jail deep in Tartarus and became the ruler of the Underworld.

How the previous scion of Ananke in Persephone's only documented cycle could not manipulate her Threads of fate. How he, most likely, would not be able to protect himself, or his brothers, from this potential new threat in Sang's body.

So when Sang opened his eyes, he braced himself for having to distance himself and his brothers from their tenth, from their promised bride. But instead, they were created with a smile and laughter.

The other members of the Coven froze in their circle, the triangle of golden thread surrounding her slowly returning to its original gray color. "Persephone?" Hope asked, and Owen could hear the caution -and was that fear?- in her voice.

"I have returned," Sang replied, and Owen was surprised to hear the strong Southern accent in her voice. He was half expecting for her to either speak with a strong Greek accent like Silas, or speak in Greek. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his brother deflate, and Gabriel suppressed a chuckle.

The Coven sighed in relief, and the Cuckoos let the thread drop, moving away from her. Jean stepped forward, her eyes blood red. Owen suppressed a shiver as her unnatural eyes passed over him. "Persephone," Jean greeted warmly, engulfing Sang warmly. "We have returned."

"We certainly have, Mother Mercy," Sang replied, and Jean barked out a laugh. "It has been a long time since I walked this earth, a long time since I have seen any of you. What year is it?"

Wanda frowned, stepping into the circle, standing alongside Jean. Out of all of the Coven, Wanda scared Owen the most. Besides her Threads of Friendship that shone a vibrant blue, interlaced with gold, that connected her to the Coven, she had only one other Thread. It shone the Red of Family, and it was the strongest Thread of Family he had ever seen. But she had no others. None. A normal person had at least two dozen threads. At the moment, she only had nine, with one forming with Sang. When he was a lot younger, and a lot dumber, he had asked her why she had so few Threads...

He couldn't look in the eyes after that.

"Has Sang not told you?" Wanda asked, concern written all over her face.

Sang waved her hand dismissively. "I will not pester her with such an arbitrary question as one regarding the passage of time," she replied, a sharp edge to her voice.

"So you ask us? Your fellow sisters? Goddesses? Instead of asking a mortal?" Wanda pressed, her eyes deepening to a dark purple. Both goddesses stiffened, and Sang straightened, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Jean watched with a rather bemused smile on her face, but Owen could see her motioning for Rachel to come closer.

"I realize, now, that I must remind you although you are older than my host is," Sang started, Persephone's accent thickening as she stepped closer to Wanda. Wanda backed away in surprise, her nostrils flaring. "That you were, and still are, a servant of the Underworld, and I remind you that I, not Hades, not Thanos, I, Persephone, gave you your position of honor, so you must respect not only I, your Queen, but Sang, the Maiden to your Crone, the Sword to your Feeble Shield. So, I will ask you again, what year is it?"