the wrong writer

When you awake, you’re liquid gold. You’re floating, body wrapped in warmth, cozy, deliciously sore. It takes several minutes for your mind to catch up to your body, and when you collect yourself, it is gradual, starting from the light fog in your head clearing to the twitch in your fingers and toes. Your muscles groan and creak as you stretch out like one of the hellcats after a long day of lazing about. Still groggy, you reach out beside you, palming the blankets and pillows for the familiar sturdy heat that enveloped you through the night.

When that warmth doesn’t reach out as you expect, ice shoots down your throat. You bolt upright, the furs and blankets pooling into your lap. Your (color) eyes harden, vertical-slit pupils dilated like thin needles as they dart corner to corner, piercing through the shadows of your dark chamber. Empty.

You’re left alone. Again.

With a sharp inhale, you scramble to your feet, unfazed by your nudity as the blankets fall—hey, you’re in your own home—as you walk back and forth through your chamber. A part of you expects Zagreus to walk through balcony doors. To greet you as he’s always done, with soft green and red eyes and that slight quirk of his lips. To chat with you like before, as if no time has passed since his last visit. But you’ve always been pragmatic.

He left you.

Men, you think wryly as you squash the suffocating twinge in your chest with gritted teeth. It snakes around your heart, clutching and squeezing painfully, and you force yourself to breath. Slow, controlled. Keep your composure. No man—or god—shall ever bring you to tears. You’re better than this, (Your Name).

Perhaps, your opinion of Zagreus was too high. You’ve grown so used to him, of his incessant and needless kindness, of the surprisingly soft voice he uses with you, of his cautious touch, like you’re the most precious art piece to be handled with care. He treated you like a gentleman, like an equal, a courtesy you’ve never been granted before. Much less from a god.

You click your tongue, moving to sit on your bed once more. Gentleman? Please. What kind of gentleman would leave a lover without so much as a note—

Crinkle.

You leap back, head swiveling and eyes darting about, until your gaze lands at your feet. Under the edge of the blanket, a pale corner peaks from beneath, and you crouch, pulling the thick fabric aside and gently unfolding the sheet of papyrus in you hands.

My Dear (Your Name), I want to preface this by apologizing for my absence when you wake. Please believe me, I tried to wait for you, but you sleep like a rock. And snore. It’s actually quite adorable.

You purse your lips, cheeks burning, but continue.

As much as I want to—gods know I do—I’m unable to stay long as my mission remains. However, I want to make it clear: I will return to you, so we may finish what we started last night. I swear by my blood, I’ll see you soon. Until then, Zagreus

You were wrong, or so it seems, you think, blinking owlishly. You allow a smile, only a small one, to grace your lips. Of course Zagreus was considerate enough to leave you a note in his absence.

Fine, you set aside the paper. You’ll await for Zagreus’s next return, you suppose. The least you can do is grant him that, and when he arrives, they will finish what they started last night.

—The conversation.

Conversation, is what will be finished. Nothing else, you clear your throat, stamping down the burning heat that grows in your core. You can’t help as flashes of last nights… endeavors come across your mind, an unwilling spectator as the night plays out again like a dream. A hot, sweaty mess of a dream.

With no other reasonable outlet, you throw yourself face first and let out a muffled scream into your pillows, flushing deeply. Blood and darkness, you slept with Zagreus—no—Zagreus and you fucked.

And it was marvelous.

It was only the boons effect on him. You know that. You mustn’t allow yourself to be so hung up on last night, after all, it’s not like it was your first. Blood and darkness, sex is how you feed.

Perhaps that’s why you feel strangely… satiated.

Among humans, there’s a stigma about your species, that your kind are insatiable demons only capable of one thing, that you’re disgusting harpies hellbent on loveless sex and depravity. The thing is that succubi and incubi are hardly that—insatiable—they’re predators, and much like other predators on the food chain, they have their differing diets, in feeding periods. For many of your siblings, they feed for short bouts of time, only able to consume mortal souls in small batches, to which afterward they’re full for days, some of them even weeks.

So, of course you notice when, even after a days work, you still find yourself starved by the next morning. When Lady Megaera summons you to work more often than any of your brothers and sisters. However, you’ve never allowed your work life to cloud your personal one. Sex to your kind has always been biological, transactional. You’ve never seen it as anything but necessary for your survival.

Yet here you are, craving Zagreus, though you’re not sure why when you’re obviously full. You shake your head, your blush fading into confusion, irritation with yourself, as your heart pounds in your eardrums. His voice, the heat of his skin. Truly something is wrong with you if you’re already yearning for him. It hasn’t even been a full day. Gods, it’s pitiful, it’s weak, it’s–it is…

Blood and darkness.

Your eyes bug out, horrified—terrified–as you clutch a hand to your chest. Your heart, that traitor, jumps knowingly as realization dawns on you like a screeching numbskull.

For you have fallen, madly and deeply, for Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld.

-

Despite your horror, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But the fates are not kind.

Because as you awaited with anticipation for Zagreus, forcing yourself to function even as you replay that night in your head every hour, stupidly grinning to yourself till your cheeks ached, it seems he couldn’t do the same. The entire Underworld rumbles and quacks. Demons, Wretches, and Shades wade through the marketplace, even as a Gargoyle clambers to the top of the market square’s tribute statue of Lord Hade’s. It clears it throat. And then—

“Prince Zagreus of the Underworld has reached the Surface!” It bellows. A murmur rolls through the crowd, then there’s hollers and cries as demons and tortured souls alike burst in collective disbelief.

The Gargoyle continues through the roaring crowd, “The bounty on the Prince has been rescinded until further notice. The House of Hades offers great appreciation for all who have attempted participation. That is all!”

That’s it. Fellow demons and wretches disperse and resume their tasks, bumbling about as if nothing interesting had just happened.

Meanwhile, you stand in the square, frozen, staring where the Gargoyle had stood atop the Hades statue as it announced how the world basically ended.

Surface.

Zagreus.

Greece.

Surface.

Greece.

Zagreus.

Zagreus reached the Surface, reached Greece.

And as your heart sinks to your stomach, as the rolls pf papyrus you just purchased crinkles in your arms, you hate yourself for the pain that echoes through your chest. As tears muddle your vision. Your pupils sharpen to needles as you struggle to pull yourself together, even as you feel your head splitting, you insides unraveling, and the floor giving way from under you.

Because you don’t blame Zagreus at all, for escaping as soon as he had the chance.

-

TBC (Chap 8/9)

Chapter 7 <- ->Chapter 9 (coming soon)

Posted 4/12/26

When you awake, you’re liquid gold. You’re floating, body wrapped in warmth, cozy, deliciously sore. It takes several minutes for your mind to catch up to your body, and when you collect yourself, it is gradual, starting from the light fog in your head clearing to the twitch in your fingers and toes. Your muscles groan and creak as you stretch out like one of the hellcats after a long day of lazing about. Still groggy, you reach out beside you, palming the blankets and pillows for the familiar sturdy heat that enveloped you through the night.

When that warmth doesn’t reach out as you expect, ice shoots down your throat. You bolt upright, the furs and blankets pooling into your lap. Your (color) eyes harden, vertical-slit pupils dilated like thin needles as they dart corner to corner, piercing through the shadows of your dark chamber. Empty.

You’re left alone. Again.

With a sharp inhale, you scramble to your feet, unfazed by your nudity as the blankets fall—hey, you’re in your own home—as you walk back and forth through your chamber. A part of you expects Zagreus to walk through balcony doors. To greet you as he’s always done, with soft green and red eyes and that slight quirk of his lips. To chat with you like before, as if no time has passed since his last visit. But you’ve always been pragmatic.

He left you.

Men, you think wryly as you squash the suffocating twinge in your chest with gritted teeth. It snakes around your heart, clutching and squeezing painfully, and you force yourself to breath. Slow, controlled. Keep your composure. No man—or god—shall ever bring you to tears. You’re better than this, (Your Name).

Perhaps, your opinion of Zagreus was too high. You’ve grown so used to him, of his incessant and needless kindness, of the surprisingly soft voice he uses with you, of his cautious touch, like you’re the most precious art piece to be handled with care. He treated you like a gentleman, like an equal, a courtesy you’ve never been granted before. Much less from a god.

You click your tongue, moving to sit on your bed once more. Gentleman? Please. What kind of gentleman would leave a lover without so much as a note—

Crinkle.

You leap back, head swiveling and eyes darting about, until your gaze lands at your feet. Under the edge of the blanket, a pale corner peaks from beneath, and you crouch, pulling the thick fabric aside and gently unfolding the sheet of papyrus in you hands.

My Dear (Your Name), I want to preface this by apologizing for my absence when you wake. Please believe me, I tried to wait for you, but you sleep like a rock. And snore. It’s actually quite adorable.

You purse your lips, cheeks burning, but continue.

As much as I want to—gods know I do—I’m unable to stay long as my mission remains. However, I want to make it clear: I will return to you, so we may finish what we started last night. I swear by my blood, I’ll see you soon. Until then, Zagreus

You were wrong, or so it seems, you think, blinking owlishly. You allow a smile, only a small one, to grace your lips. Of course Zagreus was considerate enough to leave you a note in his absence.

Fine, you set aside the paper. You’ll await for Zagreus’s next return, you suppose. The least you can do is grant him that, and when he arrives, they will finish what they started last night.

—The conversation.

Conversation, is what will be finished. Nothing else, you clear your throat, stamping down the burning heat that grows in your core. You can’t help as flashes of last nights… endeavors come across your mind, an unwilling spectator as the night plays out again like a dream. A hot, sweaty mess of a dream.

With no other reasonable outlet, you throw yourself face first and let out a muffled scream into your pillows, flushing deeply. Blood and darkness, you slept with Zagreus—no—Zagreus and you fucked.

And it was marvelous.

It was only the boons effect on him. You know that. You mustn’t allow yourself to be so hung up on last night, after all, it’s not like it was your first. Blood and darkness, sex is how you feed.

Perhaps that’s why you feel strangely… satiated.

Among humans, there’s a stigma about your species, that your kind are insatiable demons only capable of one thing, that you’re disgusting harpies hellbent on loveless sex and depravity. The thing is that succubi and incubi are hardly that—insatiable—they’re predators, and much like other predators on the food chain, they have their differing diets, in feeding periods. For many of your siblings, they feed for short bouts of time, only able to consume mortal souls in small batches, to which afterward they’re full for days, some of them even weeks.

So, of course you notice when, even after a days work, you still find yourself starved by the next morning. When Lady Megaera summons you to work more often than any of your brothers and sisters. However, you’ve never allowed your work life to cloud your personal one. Sex to your kind has always been biological, transactional. You’ve never seen it as anything but necessary for your survival.

Yet here you are, craving Zagreus, though you’re not sure why when you’re obviously full. You shake your head, your blush fading into confusion, irritation with yourself, as your heart pounds in your eardrums. His voice, the heat of his skin. Truly something is wrong with you if you’re already yearning for him. It hasn’t even been a full day. Gods, it’s pitiful, it’s weak, it’s–it is…

Blood and darkness.

Your eyes bug out, horrified—terrified–as you clutch a hand to your chest. Your heart, that traitor, jumps knowingly as realization dawns on you like a screeching numbskull.

For you have fallen, madly and deeply, for Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld.

-

Despite your horror, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But the fates are not kind.

Because as you awaited with anticipation for Zagreus, forcing yourself to function even as you replay that night in your head every hour, stupidly grinning to yourself till your cheeks ached, it seems he couldn’t do the same. The entire Underworld rumbles and quacks. Demons, Wretches, and Shades wade through the marketplace, even as a Gargoyle clambers to the top of the market square’s tribute statue of Lord Hade’s. It clears it throat. And then—

“Prince Zagreus of the Underworld has reached the Surface!” It bellows. A murmur rolls through the crowd, then there’s hollers and cries as demons and tortured souls alike burst in collective disbelief.

The Gargoyle continues through the roaring crowd, “The bounty on the Prince has been rescinded until further notice. The House of Hades offers great appreciation for all who have attempted participation. That is all!”

That’s it. Fellow demons and wretches disperse and resume their tasks, bumbling about as if nothing interesting had just happened.

Meanwhile, you stand in the square, frozen, staring where the Gargoyle had stood atop the Hades statue as it announced how the world basically ended.

Surface.

Zagreus.

Greece.

Surface.

Greece.

Zagreus.

Zagreus reached the Surface, reached Greece.

And as your heart sinks to your stomach, as the rolls pf papyrus you just purchased crinkles in your arms, you hate yourself for the pain that echoes through your chest. As tears muddle your vision. Your pupils sharpen to needles as you struggle to pull yourself together, even as you feel your head splitting, you insides unraveling, and the floor giving way from under you.

Because you don’t blame Zagreus at all, for escaping as soon as he had the chance.

-

TBC (Chap 8/9)

Chapter 7 <- ->Chapter 9 (coming soon)

Posted 4/12/26

When you awake, you’re liquid gold. You’re floating, body wrapped in warmth, cozy, deliciously sore. It takes several minutes for your mind to catch up to your body, and when you collect yourself, it is gradual, starting from the light fog in your head clearing to the twitch in your fingers and toes. Your muscles groan and creak as you stretch out like one of the hellcats after a long day of lazing about. Still groggy, you reach out beside you, palming the blankets and pillows for the familiar sturdy heat that enveloped you through the night.

When that warmth doesn’t reach out as you expect, ice shoots down your throat. You bolt upright, the furs and blankets pooling into your lap. Your (color) eyes harden, vertical-slit pupils dilated like thin needles as they dart corner to corner, piercing through the shadows of your dark chamber. Empty.

You’re left alone. Again.

With a sharp inhale, you scramble to your feet, unfazed by your nudity as the blankets fall—hey, you’re in your own home—as you walk back and forth through your chamber. A part of you expects Zagreus to walk through balcony doors. To greet you as he’s always done, with soft green and red eyes and that slight quirk of his lips. To chat with you like before, as if no time has passed since his last visit. But you’ve always been pragmatic.

He left you.

Men, you think wryly as you squash the suffocating twinge in your chest with gritted teeth. It snakes around your heart, clutching and squeezing painfully, and you force yourself to breath. Slow, controlled. Keep your composure. No man—or god—shall ever bring you to tears. You’re better than this, (Your Name).

Perhaps, your opinion of Zagreus was too high. You’ve grown so used to him, of his incessant and needless kindness, of the surprisingly soft voice he uses with you, of his cautious touch, like you’re the most precious art piece to be handled with care. He treated you like a gentleman, like an equal, a courtesy you’ve never been granted before. Much less from a god.

You click your tongue, moving to sit on your bed once more. Gentleman? Please. What kind of gentleman would leave a lover without so much as a note—

Crinkle.

You leap back, head swiveling and eyes darting about, until your gaze lands at your feet. Under the edge of the blanket, a pale corner peaks from beneath, and you crouch, pulling the thick fabric aside and gently unfolding the sheet of papyrus in you hands.

My Dear (Your Name), I want to preface this by apologizing for my absence when you wake. Please believe me, I tried to wait for you, but you sleep like a rock. And snore. It’s actually quite adorable.

You purse your lips, cheeks burning, but continue.

As much as I want to—gods know I do—I’m unable to stay long as my mission remains. However, I want to make it clear: I will return to you, so we may finish what we started last night. I swear by my blood, I’ll see you soon. Until then, Zagreus

You were wrong, or so it seems, you think, blinking owlishly. You allow a smile, only a small one, to grace your lips. Of course Zagreus was considerate enough to leave you a note in his absence.

Fine, you set aside the paper. You’ll await for Zagreus’s next return, you suppose. The least you can do is grant him that, and when he arrives, they will finish what they started last night.

—The conversation.

Conversation, is what will be finished. Nothing else, you clear your throat, stamping down the burning heat that grows in your core. You can’t help as flashes of last nights… endeavors come across your mind, an unwilling spectator as the night plays out again like a dream. A hot, sweaty mess of a dream.

With no other reasonable outlet, you throw yourself face first and let out a muffled scream into your pillows, flushing deeply. Blood and darkness, you slept with Zagreus—no—Zagreus and you fucked.

And it was marvelous.

It was only the boons effect on him. You know that. You mustn’t allow yourself to be so hung up on last night, after all, it’s not like it was your first. Blood and darkness, sex is how you feed.

Perhaps that’s why you feel strangely… satiated.

Among humans, there’s a stigma about your species, that your kind are insatiable demons only capable of one thing, that you’re disgusting harpies hellbent on loveless sex and depravity. The thing is that succubi and incubi are hardly that—insatiable—they’re predators, and much like other predators on the food chain, they have their differing diets, in feeding periods. For many of your siblings, they feed for short bouts of time, only able to consume mortal souls in small batches, to which afterward they’re full for days, some of them even weeks.

So, of course you notice when, even after a days work, you still find yourself starved by the next morning. When Lady Megaera summons you to work more often than any of your brothers and sisters. However, you’ve never allowed your work life to cloud your personal one. Sex to your kind has always been biological, transactional. You’ve never seen it as anything but necessary for your survival.

Yet here you are, craving Zagreus, though you’re not sure why when you’re obviously full. You shake your head, your blush fading into confusion, irritation with yourself, as your heart pounds in your eardrums. His voice, the heat of his skin. Truly something is wrong with you if you’re already yearning for him. It hasn’t even been a full day. Gods, it’s pitiful, it’s weak, it’s–it is…

Blood and darkness.

Your eyes bug out, horrified—terrified–as you clutch a hand to your chest. Your heart, that traitor, jumps knowingly as realization dawns on you like a screeching numbskull.

For you have fallen, madly and deeply, for Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld.

-

Despite your horror, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But the fates are not kind.

Because as you awaited with anticipation for Zagreus, forcing yourself to function even as you replay that night in your head every hour, stupidly grinning to yourself till your cheeks ached, it seems he couldn’t do the same. The entire Underworld rumbles and quacks. Demons, Wretches, and Shades wade through the marketplace, even as a Gargoyle clambers to the top of the market square’s tribute statue of Lord Hade’s. It clears it throat. And then—

“Prince Zagreus of the Underworld has reached the Surface!” It bellows. A murmur rolls through the crowd, then there’s hollers and cries as demons and tortured souls alike burst in collective disbelief.

The Gargoyle continues through the roaring crowd, “The bounty on the Prince has been rescinded until further notice. The House of Hades offers great appreciation for all who have attempted participation. That is all!”

That’s it. Fellow demons and wretches disperse and resume their tasks, bumbling about as if nothing interesting had just happened.

Meanwhile, you stand in the square, frozen, staring where the Gargoyle had stood atop the Hades statue as it announced how the world basically ended.

Surface.

Zagreus.

Greece.

Surface.

Greece.

Zagreus.

Zagreus reached the Surface, reached Greece.

And as your heart sinks to your stomach, as the rolls pf papyrus you just purchased crinkles in your arms, you hate yourself for the pain that echoes through your chest. As tears muddle your vision. Your pupils sharpen to needles as you struggle to pull yourself together, even as you feel your head splitting, you insides unraveling, and the floor giving way from under you.

Because you don’t blame Zagreus at all, for escaping as soon as he had the chance.

-

TBC (Chap 8/9)

Chapter 7 <- ->Chapter 9 (coming soon)

Posted 4/12/26

When you awake, you’re liquid gold. You’re floating, body wrapped in warmth, cozy, deliciously sore. It takes several minutes for your mind to catch up to your body, and when you collect yourself, it is gradual, starting from the light fog in your head clearing to the twitch in your fingers and toes. Your muscles groan and creak as you stretch out like one of the hellcats after a long day of lazing about. Still groggy, you reach out beside you, palming the blankets and pillows for the familiar sturdy heat that enveloped you through the night.

When that warmth doesn’t reach out as you expect, ice shoots down your throat. You bolt upright, the furs and blankets pooling into your lap. Your (color) eyes harden, vertical-slit pupils dilated like thin needles as they dart corner to corner, piercing through the shadows of your dark chamber. Empty.

You’re left alone. Again.

With a sharp inhale, you scramble to your feet, unfazed by your nudity as the blankets fall—hey, you’re in your own home—as you walk back and forth through your chamber. A part of you expects Zagreus to walk through balcony doors. To greet you as he’s always done, with soft green and red eyes and that slight quirk of his lips. To chat with you like before, as if no time has passed since his last visit. But you’ve always been pragmatic.

He left you.

Men, you think wryly as you squash the suffocating twinge in your chest with gritted teeth. It snakes around your heart, clutching and squeezing painfully, and you force yourself to breath. Slow, controlled. Keep your composure. No man—or god—shall ever bring you to tears. You’re better than this, (Your Name).

Perhaps, your opinion of Zagreus was too high. You’ve grown so used to him, of his incessant and needless kindness, of the surprisingly soft voice he uses with you, of his cautious touch, like you’re the most precious art piece to be handled with care. He treated you like a gentleman, like an equal, a courtesy you’ve never been granted before. Much less from a god.

You click your tongue, moving to sit on your bed once more. Gentleman? Please. What kind of gentleman would leave a lover without so much as a note—

Crinkle.

You leap back, head swiveling and eyes darting about, until your gaze lands at your feet. Under the edge of the blanket, a pale corner peaks from beneath, and you crouch, pulling the thick fabric aside and gently unfolding the sheet of papyrus in you hands.

My Dear (Your Name), I want to preface this by apologizing for my absence when you wake. Please believe me, I tried to wait for you, but you sleep like a rock. And snore. It’s actually quite adorable.

You purse your lips, cheeks burning, but continue.

As much as I want to—gods know I do—I’m unable to stay long as my mission remains. However, I want to make it clear: I will return to you, so we may finish what we started last night. I swear by my blood, I’ll see you soon. Until then, Zagreus

You were wrong, or so it seems, you think, blinking owlishly. You allow a smile, only a small one, to grace your lips. Of course Zagreus was considerate enough to leave you a note in his absence.

Fine, you set aside the paper. You’ll await for Zagreus’s next return, you suppose. The least you can do is grant him that, and when he arrives, they will finish what they started last night.

—The conversation.

Conversation, is what will be finished. Nothing else, you clear your throat, stamping down the burning heat that grows in your core. You can’t help as flashes of last nights… endeavors come across your mind, an unwilling spectator as the night plays out again like a dream. A hot, sweaty mess of a dream.

With no other reasonable outlet, you throw yourself face first and let out a muffled scream into your pillows, flushing deeply. Blood and darkness, you slept with Zagreus—no—Zagreus and you fucked.

And it was marvelous.

It was only the boons effect on him. You know that. You mustn’t allow yourself to be so hung up on last night, after all, it’s not like it was your first. Blood and darkness, sex is how you feed.

Perhaps that’s why you feel strangely… satiated.

Among humans, there’s a stigma about your species, that your kind are insatiable demons only capable of one thing, that you’re disgusting harpies hellbent on loveless sex and depravity. The thing is that succubi and incubi are hardly that—insatiable—they’re predators, and much like other predators on the food chain, they have their differing diets, in feeding periods. For many of your siblings, they feed for short bouts of time, only able to consume mortal souls in small batches, to which afterward they’re full for days, some of them even weeks.

So, of course you notice when, even after a days work, you still find yourself starved by the next morning. When Lady Megaera summons you to work more often than any of your brothers and sisters. However, you’ve never allowed your work life to cloud your personal one. Sex to your kind has always been biological, transactional. You’ve never seen it as anything but necessary for your survival.

Yet here you are, craving Zagreus, though you’re not sure why when you’re obviously full. You shake your head, your blush fading into confusion, irritation with yourself, as your heart pounds in your eardrums. His voice, the heat of his skin. Truly something is wrong with you if you’re already yearning for him. It hasn’t even been a full day. Gods, it’s pitiful, it’s weak, it’s–it is…

Blood and darkness.

Your eyes bug out, horrified—terrified–as you clutch a hand to your chest. Your heart, that traitor, jumps knowingly as realization dawns on you like a screeching numbskull.

For you have fallen, madly and deeply, for Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld.

-

Despite your horror, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But the fates are not kind.

Because as you awaited with anticipation for Zagreus, forcing yourself to function even as you replay that night in your head every hour, stupidly grinning to yourself till your cheeks ached, it seems he couldn’t do the same. The entire Underworld rumbles and quacks. Demons, Wretches, and Shades wade through the marketplace, even as a Gargoyle clambers to the top of the market square’s tribute statue of Lord Hade’s. It clears it throat. And then—

“Prince Zagreus of the Underworld has reached the Surface!” It bellows. A murmur rolls through the crowd, then there’s hollers and cries as demons and tortured souls alike burst in collective disbelief.

The Gargoyle continues through the roaring crowd, “The bounty on the Prince has been rescinded until further notice. The House of Hades offers great appreciation for all who have attempted participation. That is all!”

That’s it. Fellow demons and wretches disperse and resume their tasks, bumbling about as if nothing interesting had just happened.

Meanwhile, you stand in the square, frozen, staring where the Gargoyle had stood atop the Hades statue as it announced how the world basically ended.

Surface.

Zagreus.

Greece.

Surface.

Greece.

Zagreus.

Zagreus reached the Surface, reached Greece.

And as your heart sinks to your stomach, as the rolls pf papyrus you just purchased crinkles in your arms, you hate yourself for the pain that echoes through your chest. As tears muddle your vision. Your pupils sharpen to needles as you struggle to pull yourself together, even as you feel your head splitting, you insides unraveling, and the floor giving way from under you.

Because you don’t blame Zagreus at all, for escaping as soon as he had the chance.

-

TBC (Chap 8/9)

Chapter 7 <- ->Chapter 9 (coming soon)

Posted 4/12/26

When you awake, you’re liquid gold. You’re floating, body wrapped in warmth, cozy, deliciously sore. It takes several minutes for your mind to catch up to your body, and when you collect yourself, it is gradual, starting from the light fog in your head clearing to the twitch in your fingers and toes. Your muscles groan and creak as you stretch out like one of the hellcats after a long day of lazing about. Still groggy, you reach out beside you, palming the blankets and pillows for the familiar sturdy heat that enveloped you through the night.

When that warmth doesn’t reach out as you expect, ice shoots down your throat. You bolt upright, the furs and blankets pooling into your lap. Your (color) eyes harden, vertical-slit pupils dilated like thin needles as they dart corner to corner, piercing through the shadows of your dark chamber. Empty.

You’re left alone. Again.

With a sharp inhale, you scramble to your feet, unfazed by your nudity as the blankets fall—hey, you’re in your own home—as you walk back and forth through your chamber. A part of you expects Zagreus to walk through balcony doors. To greet you as he’s always done, with soft green and red eyes and that slight quirk of his lips. To chat with you like before, as if no time has passed since his last visit. But you’ve always been pragmatic.

He left you.

Men, you think wryly as you squash the suffocating twinge in your chest with gritted teeth. It snakes around your heart, clutching and squeezing painfully, and you force yourself to breath. Slow, controlled. Keep your composure. No man—or god—shall ever bring you to tears. You’re better than this, (Your Name).

Perhaps, your opinion of Zagreus was too high. You’ve grown so used to him, of his incessant and needless kindness, of the surprisingly soft voice he uses with you, of his cautious touch, like you’re the most precious art piece to be handled with care. He treated you like a gentleman, like an equal, a courtesy you’ve never been granted before. Much less from a god.

You click your tongue, moving to sit on your bed once more. Gentleman? Please. What kind of gentleman would leave a lover without so much as a note—

Crinkle.

You leap back, head swiveling and eyes darting about, until your gaze lands at your feet. Under the edge of the blanket, a pale corner peaks from beneath, and you crouch, pulling the thick fabric aside and gently unfolding the sheet of papyrus in you hands.

My Dear (Your Name), I want to preface this by apologizing for my absence when you wake. Please believe me, I tried to wait for you, but you sleep like a rock. And snore. It’s actually quite adorable.

You purse your lips, cheeks burning, but continue.

As much as I want to—gods know I do—I’m unable to stay long as my mission remains. However, I want to make it clear: I will return to you, so we may finish what we started last night. I swear by my blood, I’ll see you soon. Until then, Zagreus

You were wrong, or so it seems, you think, blinking owlishly. You allow a smile, only a small one, to grace your lips. Of course Zagreus was considerate enough to leave you a note in his absence.

Fine, you set aside the paper. You’ll await for Zagreus’s next return, you suppose. The least you can do is grant him that, and when he arrives, they will finish what they started last night.

—The conversation.

Conversation, is what will be finished. Nothing else, you clear your throat, stamping down the burning heat that grows in your core. You can’t help as flashes of last nights… endeavors come across your mind, an unwilling spectator as the night plays out again like a dream. A hot, sweaty mess of a dream.

With no other reasonable outlet, you throw yourself face first and let out a muffled scream into your pillows, flushing deeply. Blood and darkness, you slept with Zagreus—no—Zagreus and you fucked.

And it was marvelous.

It was only the boons effect on him. You know that. You mustn’t allow yourself to be so hung up on last night, after all, it’s not like it was your first. Blood and darkness, sex is how you feed.

Perhaps that’s why you feel strangely… satiated.

Among humans, there’s a stigma about your species, that your kind are insatiable demons only capable of one thing, that you’re disgusting harpies hellbent on loveless sex and depravity. The thing is that succubi and incubi are hardly that—insatiable—they’re predators, and much like other predators on the food chain, they have their differing diets, in feeding periods. For many of your siblings, they feed for short bouts of time, only able to consume mortal souls in small batches, to which afterward they’re full for days, some of them even weeks.

So, of course you notice when, even after a days work, you still find yourself starved by the next morning. When Lady Megaera summons you to work more often than any of your brothers and sisters. However, you’ve never allowed your work life to cloud your personal one. Sex to your kind has always been biological, transactional. You’ve never seen it as anything but necessary for your survival.

Yet here you are, craving Zagreus, though you’re not sure why when you’re obviously full. You shake your head, your blush fading into confusion, irritation with yourself, as your heart pounds in your eardrums. His voice, the heat of his skin. Truly something is wrong with you if you’re already yearning for him. It hasn’t even been a full day. Gods, it’s pitiful, it’s weak, it’s–it is…

Blood and darkness.

Your eyes bug out, horrified—terrified–as you clutch a hand to your chest. Your heart, that traitor, jumps knowingly as realization dawns on you like a screeching numbskull.

For you have fallen, madly and deeply, for Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld.

-

Despite your horror, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But the fates are not kind.

Because as you awaited with anticipation for Zagreus, forcing yourself to function even as you replay that night in your head every hour, stupidly grinning to yourself till your cheeks ached, it seems he couldn’t do the same. The entire Underworld rumbles and quacks. Demons, Wretches, and Shades wade through the marketplace, even as a Gargoyle clambers to the top of the market square’s tribute statue of Lord Hade’s. It clears it throat. And then—

“Prince Zagreus of the Underworld has reached the Surface!” It bellows. A murmur rolls through the crowd, then there’s hollers and cries as demons and tortured souls alike burst in collective disbelief.

The Gargoyle continues through the roaring crowd, “The bounty on the Prince has been rescinded until further notice. The House of Hades offers great appreciation for all who have attempted participation. That is all!”

That’s it. Fellow demons and wretches disperse and resume their tasks, bumbling about as if nothing interesting had just happened.

Meanwhile, you stand in the square, frozen, staring where the Gargoyle had stood atop the Hades statue as it announced how the world basically ended.

Surface.

Zagreus.

Greece.

Surface.

Greece.

Zagreus.

Zagreus reached the Surface, reached Greece.

And as your heart sinks to your stomach, as the rolls pf papyrus you just purchased crinkles in your arms, you hate yourself for the pain that echoes through your chest. As tears muddle your vision. Your pupils sharpen to needles as you struggle to pull yourself together, even as you feel your head splitting, you insides unraveling, and the floor giving way from under you.

Because you don’t blame Zagreus at all, for escaping as soon as he had the chance.

-

TBC (Chap 8/9)

Chapter 7 <- ->Chapter 9 (coming soon)

Posted 4/12/26

When you awake, you’re liquid gold. You’re floating, body wrapped in warmth, cozy, deliciously sore. It takes several minutes for your mind to catch up to your body, and when you collect yourself, it is gradual, starting from the light fog in your head clearing to the twitch in your fingers and toes. Your muscles groan and creak as you stretch out like one of the hellcats after a long day of lazing about. Still groggy, you reach out beside you, palming the blankets and pillows for the familiar sturdy heat that enveloped you through the night.

When that warmth doesn’t reach out as you expect, ice shoots down your throat. You bolt upright, the furs and blankets pooling into your lap. Your (color) eyes harden, vertical-slit pupils dilated like thin needles as they dart corner to corner, piercing through the shadows of your dark chamber. Empty.

You’re left alone. Again.

With a sharp inhale, you scramble to your feet, unfazed by your nudity as the blankets fall—hey, you’re in your own home—as you walk back and forth through your chamber. A part of you expects Zagreus to walk through balcony doors. To greet you as he’s always done, with soft green and red eyes and that slight quirk of his lips. To chat with you like before, as if no time has passed since his last visit. But you’ve always been pragmatic.

He left you.

Men, you think wryly as you squash the suffocating twinge in your chest with gritted teeth. It snakes around your heart, clutching and squeezing painfully, and you force yourself to breath. Slow, controlled. Keep your composure. No man—or god—shall ever bring you to tears. You’re better than this, (Your Name).

Perhaps, your opinion of Zagreus was too high. You’ve grown so used to him, of his incessant and needless kindness, of the surprisingly soft voice he uses with you, of his cautious touch, like you’re the most precious art piece to be handled with care. He treated you like a gentleman, like an equal, a courtesy you’ve never been granted before. Much less from a god.

You click your tongue, moving to sit on your bed once more. Gentleman? Please. What kind of gentleman would leave a lover without so much as a note—

Crinkle.

You leap back, head swiveling and eyes darting about, until your gaze lands at your feet. Under the edge of the blanket, a pale corner peaks from beneath, and you crouch, pulling the thick fabric aside and gently unfolding the sheet of papyrus in you hands.

My Dear (Your Name), I want to preface this by apologizing for my absence when you wake. Please believe me, I tried to wait for you, but you sleep like a rock. And snore. It’s actually quite adorable.

You purse your lips, cheeks burning, but continue.

As much as I want to—gods know I do—I’m unable to stay long as my mission remains. However, I want to make it clear: I will return to you, so we may finish what we started last night. I swear by my blood, I’ll see you soon. Until then, Zagreus

You were wrong, or so it seems, you think, blinking owlishly. You allow a smile, only a small one, to grace your lips. Of course Zagreus was considerate enough to leave you a note in his absence.

Fine, you set aside the paper. You’ll await for Zagreus’s next return, you suppose. The least you can do is grant him that, and when he arrives, they will finish what they started last night.

—The conversation.

Conversation, is what will be finished. Nothing else, you clear your throat, stamping down the burning heat that grows in your core. You can’t help as flashes of last nights… endeavors come across your mind, an unwilling spectator as the night plays out again like a dream. A hot, sweaty mess of a dream.

With no other reasonable outlet, you throw yourself face first and let out a muffled scream into your pillows, flushing deeply. Blood and darkness, you slept with Zagreus—no—Zagreus and you fucked.

And it was marvelous.

It was only the boons effect on him. You know that. You mustn’t allow yourself to be so hung up on last night, after all, it’s not like it was your first. Blood and darkness, sex is how you feed.

Perhaps that’s why you feel strangely… satiated.

Among humans, there’s a stigma about your species, that your kind are insatiable demons only capable of one thing, that you’re disgusting harpies hellbent on loveless sex and depravity. The thing is that succubi and incubi are hardly that—insatiable—they’re predators, and much like other predators on the food chain, they have their differing diets, in feeding periods. For many of your siblings, they feed for short bouts of time, only able to consume mortal souls in small batches, to which afterward they’re full for days, some of them even weeks.

So, of course you notice when, even after a days work, you still find yourself starved by the next morning. When Lady Megaera summons you to work more often than any of your brothers and sisters. However, you’ve never allowed your work life to cloud your personal one. Sex to your kind has always been biological, transactional. You’ve never seen it as anything but necessary for your survival.

Yet here you are, craving Zagreus, though you’re not sure why when you’re obviously full. You shake your head, your blush fading into confusion, irritation with yourself, as your heart pounds in your eardrums. His voice, the heat of his skin. Truly something is wrong with you if you’re already yearning for him. It hasn’t even been a full day. Gods, it’s pitiful, it’s weak, it’s–it is…

Blood and darkness.

Your eyes bug out, horrified—terrified–as you clutch a hand to your chest. Your heart, that traitor, jumps knowingly as realization dawns on you like a screeching numbskull.

For you have fallen, madly and deeply, for Zagreus, Prince of the Underworld.

-

Despite your horror, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But the fates are not kind.

Because as you awaited with anticipation for Zagreus, forcing yourself to function even as you replay that night in your head every hour, stupidly grinning to yourself till your cheeks ached, it seems he couldn’t do the same. The entire Underworld rumbles and quacks. Demons, Wretches, and Shades wade through the marketplace, even as a Gargoyle clambers to the top of the market square’s tribute statue of Lord Hade’s. It clears it throat. And then—

“Prince Zagreus of the Underworld has reached the Surface!” It bellows. A murmur rolls through the crowd, then there’s hollers and cries as demons and tortured souls alike burst in collective disbelief.

The Gargoyle continues through the roaring crowd, “The bounty on the Prince has been rescinded until further notice. The House of Hades offers great appreciation for all who have attempted participation. That is all!”

That’s it. Fellow demons and wretches disperse and resume their tasks, bumbling about as if nothing interesting had just happened.

Meanwhile, you stand in the square, frozen, staring where the Gargoyle had stood atop the Hades statue as it announced how the world basically ended.

Surface.

Zagreus.

Greece.

Surface.

Greece.

Zagreus.

Zagreus reached the Surface, reached Greece.

And as your heart sinks to your stomach, as the rolls pf papyrus you just purchased crinkles in your arms, you hate yourself for the pain that echoes through your chest. As tears muddle your vision. Your pupils sharpen to needles as you struggle to pull yourself together, even as you feel your head splitting, you insides unraveling, and the floor giving way from under you.

Because you don’t blame Zagreus at all, for escaping as soon as he had the chance.

-

TBC (Chap 8/9)

Chapter 7 <- ->Chapter 9 (coming soon)

Posted 4/12/26