The Fates (Book I) - 2014 Watty Award Winner!

4.2 - In Hell

Dear Readers: Let's revisit the dark rose, and see what transpires tonight on the dark streets of Greece...

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Scene 2: In Hell

A.D. 2015

Darkness had never let her down. The shadows, the streets—they had never rejected her, never denied her the power she needed to thrive. She should never have left.

From New York, yes—that had been wise of her to leave. Far from the Golde brother who had sworn vengeance after fucking her in half. Somehow, she didn’t doubt that he would find it. No matter how far or how fast she ran, she felt a trail of blood left in her wake, after what she had done to Ro. And Axel was the bloodhound. On her tail forever, never more than a step behind, to torment her and make her live in fear awhile before she died. On his terms. For he owned her now.

She had hoped to find safety, for a second, with the one soul on this earth she trusted most. But trust required love. And Eldor didn’t love her anymore. Not after what she had become. He found her tragic and disgusting, after all these years—she couldn’t blame him anyway. After all that he’d done to protect her, provide her with the hope of a happy and meaningful future, she had gone off to make a living as a streetwalker. A piece of shit whore. What now, was he supposed to find that charming? How had she dared set foot in his perfect little house? The orbit of perfection that surrounded him on every side, a mile wide?

She should never have left the shadows. She should never seek after the light, ever again. That end of the tunnel was closed. She could only sink backwards, disappear into the darkness whence she’d come.

At least there were plenty of shadows in Athens. And all around the world. She could easily spend all her days in the shadows, till the bloodhound decided to give her the slow, painful death she deserved.

At any rate, Atria remembered having passed by a jewelry store on the way to Eldor’s house earlier today, with a humongous golden necklace in the main window display. She retraced her steps to find the place, peering through the shadows at each storefront that she passed. Most were closed at this hour, on this tourist-friendly strip of street that had been so alive during the day. There was that tacky souvenir shop, the quaint little bakery, the overpriced grocery…

“Oh—pardon me,” a silken voice cooed through the darkness.

Atria blinked, alarmed to have bumped into a woman. Usually, when she collided with anyone, it was a man or boy who walked straight into her on purpose and tried to pass it off as an accident.

“Terribly sorry…” the woman expressed. “You blended right into the shadows, in that black coat.”

Atria had wrapped herself in her trench coat, when stepping out heartbroken into the streets. It was over eighty degrees here at night, but she had donned it nonetheless, out of some blind instinct. Perhaps to better blend into the shadows, just as this stranger had said.

She blinked again. This stranger’s platinum hair stood out stark as a halo in the starlight. Atria should’ve seen her coming. She silently admitted to herself that, for once, the collision had been her own fault.

“Awfully warm tonight for a coat, don’t you think?” the woman commented, tilting her silvery-crowned head, pausing thoughtfully before her next question. “…Are you all right?”

Atria awoke from her brief trance. Something about this woman’s dazzling grey eyes had stunned her into silence; she snapped out of it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” she stammered, shifting her weight onto one heel to step to the side, out of this woman’s way. Agh, shit—the stiletto wedged itself into a crevice in the pavement.