there's a spider in the roses.

@corinthbaystarters​​

location: Agia Paraskevi Street

A woman stealing, a man cheating, and down the street a pair of siblings traded blows. Humanity was ever-changing, but stripped of their technology, their expensive clothes, and whatever other superficial constructs they clung to and they were all the same. This city was known for its hedonism, tainted at its very core - it was no wonder Hotaru had been tasked with coming here. Though the more he observed the more the task seemed an impossible one, failure loomed over the horizon but so long as he remained useful to the Greeks he might avoid Enma’s punishment. “Tell me,” Hotaru queried as he held up one of the numerous evil eye charms that littered a stall, “do these really work?”

+

Mara’s eyes flit over, from where she had been subtly studying the strange man from her place further down. There seem to be so many of a strange, ancient magic within the city nowadays, it has her curious. “Hardly.” Her words are accompanied by a light scoff, eyeing the charm he holds within his hand. Nothing special about that one, not even the handiwork. She’s seen better craftsmanship, as well as ones with actual useful qualities. “There is no actual magic involved in their creation. These are merely more than trinkets.” Humans, trying to grasp onto a power they cannot possess. While Mara cannot truly blame them for wanting such, their attempts always come across meager and pathetic to the kobalos. “A witch would be able to create one of better use, if you are looking for such.”

This was a Mara that he knew best, defiant— often furious at him. His arms crossed over his chest and he stared back at her, gaze hard as they both bristled like irate alleycats. He knew briefly of how life had carved her down into what she was now, how it had given her joy: moments of which he had seen like light through cracked clay, but it had stolen them: this was the loss that she spoke of. A mother without her children was someone whittled down and hollow, but his sister was made of something too strong to allow such heartbreak to ruin her. Her spirit would endure, and he immediately felt a pang of regret for his words. Later, he’d apologize, but for now he clenched his jaw. “There is no other way, nothing that I can see.” Milos rubbed at his jaw, looking at Mara with his usual intensity. “I cannot just let her go, be satisfied with a few years. I want a family, I want a future.” He shook his head, “I’ve never wanted those things before.” Forever had been a guarantee, and while it hadn’t of been lonely, it hadn’t of been complete before either: Mara had been the most important woman in his life for a long, long time, but that wasn’t enough, not for him now. “I’ll pledge my immortality, if I must. Surely that will bring a god’s ear to earth to listen.”

+

“You think a family will change things? That it will not hurt infinitely more in the end?” Mara knows the pain, to carry a child within her womb, bring it to this world and watch it grow, only to live with the knowledge that their end would eventually come. To sit at their side as they leave this world to move onto the next, knowing she cannot follow after, and will never see them again. “You speak of forevers, a terror of losing what you love, and then turn around and confess to wishing to willingly walk into that fire.” Even if his wish succeeds and the werewolf finds immortality, that would offer no such mercy to the children he speaks of wanting to have with her. It’s clear now more than ever to Mara that Milos has not thought any of this through, too caught up in the fantasies that he’s built within his own head. “If you cannot let go of one, how do you expect to handle the days when this family you want so much begins to wither in front of your eyes? Perhaps you will be lucky, and it will happen when you are in between lives, or too young to know any better.” She takes a step back, because hurt coats her voice and Mara does not like allowing herself to become so unraveled. Her composure is her armor, and so she will set it back in place. “You are only setting yourself up for heartache, Milos. Especially if you receive no answer.”

“It’s almost…” The concept of such a thing should be jarring and yet, when Theseus really thinks about it, it’s kind of freeing. “They’re not wrong for that.” Many other things, perhaps, but that’s not one of them. “How liberating it must feel to not be burdened by the thought of what awaits you on the other side.” He looks towards her and then he’s watching their feet in the sand. He almost feels less as if he is walking and more like he is pacing along the shoreline. It’s the presence of the water, he thinks, that has his tongue a bit looser. There’d been a time long ago where he’d look out at the sea and speak his thoughts, he’d pretend he was telling Poseidon his problems. Instead he is flanked by a follower of the god who seemed to plague him. “That was the norm, have a son, hope they were a hero or that they’d do something to favor the gods. If they themselves couldn’t have glory, they’d surely live vicariously through their children.” He scoffs at such an idea now and it feels blasphemous, and yet he can’t find it in him to care. “I hear that part hasn’t changed much, I’ve watched an awful lot of television the last few weeks.”

+

“Perhaps so.” Mara cannot claim to truly share in the experience. What is beyond death will not touch her, the end of each life more of a nuisance than a true concern, as she knows reincarnation waits on the other side. It’s a cheat not afforded to many others, and yet perhaps she agrees with him, in the fact that there must be something... freeing in the unknown. The lack of care. “I imagine it makes things easier. Simpler.” Mara is not a simple woman, nor would she ever claim to long for it, but there is a certain nostalgia she holds for the first days within their village. Back when the world was so much smaller. But fools live and die in small worlds, blinded to the bigger picture. She will not be one of them. “Ah yes, only a son. Because daughters were so incapable of carrying the legacy,” the words are laced with sarcasm, but there’s no true ire in her tone, more mirthful than anything. Her gender has always been under discriminations, no matter what the age, to point it out is of no great irritation. “But you are correct, that has not changed. Good and bad parents exist, much as they always have. Much as they always will. It is simply human nature.” She takes note of his speech, the way it sounds as if he hasn’t been in this age for long. Even more pieces being slowly uncovered, eventually Mara might even have the full picture, if she keeps prodding. 

@corinthbaystarters​

     “Do you believe in horoscopes?” Delia was used to talking to strangers. In the years she had been searching for her sister, and the years as a vampire, she hadn’t really made many friends. Instead she had been constantly moving, always trying to get information out of strangers, and it was why she had grown careless about what others might think when she spoke to them. “I’m just asking because this one says I will die an awful death within the next 24 hours, and if that’s the case, I will overdose on ice cream first.”

“I’ve heard much about it.” She’s clever, this one, but he shouldn’t expect any less of a kobalos. Theseus isn’t particularly bothered by people knowing who he is, he’s decided. If anything, he’s more concerned people would be wary of him should they know why he was present in Corinth. He could always say he was back to see what had become of his beloved Athens and was just visiting the bay, but those who had been through…Whatever the gods had decided to do, would probably know better. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Long ago we were told it awaited those who would be heroes. And everyone wanted to be a hero.” Parents had children in hopes they’d be great, not just great, but greater than themselves. He’d maybe fallen privy to such thinking with Hippolytus. And yet, after what he’d endured, while he still loved the thrill of a challenge, he couldn’t help but want just a simple life for his son, if he desired it. He’d wanted simpler things. “Is it still like that? Do people talk of death with such…Fondness?” It’s not quite the right word, but he’s not quite sure how to put the feeling into words.

+

She doesn’t expect him to give a true answer, but takes note of how Adrian dances around it all the same. Mara shakes her head quietly, eyes cast out upon the dark waves as they roll against the beach. She remembers such a time that they speak of, when glory was the highest prize that could be won, and nothing mattered so much as the legend one would leave behind. Perhaps her own head had been full of such fantasies, once, but it is something the kobalos has long outgrown. “The age of heroes is long gone. This world hardly believes in such things anymore.” Not in the way that it used to. She’s come to realize there is not much anything humans hold continued faith in, devotion eroded away over time like rocks by the sea shore. “There are many who do not believe in the existence of an afterlife at all, much less look forward to it. If there is one thing to be said of this age, it is their belief in choosing to live for this life, not the next.”

If she was flattering him on purpose, it was definitely working. Narcissus loved hearing hiimself talk, but he also loved hearing other people talk about him. “Please, I am the life of all parties, Mara.” He put his chin in his hand as he looked at the kobalos, “Dionysus told me all sorts, you know. The whole idea. He’s the god of madness before he’s the god of wine,” he crooned, grinning now at the kobalos. “And haven’t you considered throwing one of these again? My house is wonderful, bet you’d like it. It’d actually be the perfect place for once of those. Anyway, tell me more about yourself, Mara.” He was sure Dionysus had offered once to show him all his kobaloi, but that would’ve been far too long for the attention to not be on him.

+

It is flattery, but it seems to be working, because Dorian continues on with his maundering and she does not mind to listen. He confirms easily what his earlier words made her suspect, that this is a man who is familiar with her god, has stood in his presence before — and what’s more, has held his favor enough for conversation. Like they’re old friends. From another, Mara would likely not believe it, but she would be a fool to discount the power that resides within him. Was that a gift from Dionysus? “Our parties are things of legend, it’s true. Perhaps this age is due for another one, particularly with so many of us within the same city now.” And Mara would not turn down the opportunity to get closer to Dorian, to learn anything more about him that she can — starting with his home. “I would love to see it, if you’re feeling so inclined. I’m sure it is magnificent.” She leans in closer, diminishing the space between them as a coy grin sets against her lips. “And if it is a party you desire, I can put together one of the greatest nights you’ll ever know.” It’s a bold statement, but Mara has enough ego to stand behind it confidently.

“Or you just vastly underestimate my importance to you. I like to think of it that way. Makes me feel good.” Antagonizing her was one of his favorite things to do. What would she do in response? Probably just tell him she wouldn’t do such a thing and then they would just keep going in circles. Annoying her was far too fun for him to stop now though. “Are you calling me a ghoul? If that’s the case, I should be doing better at this annoying you until your death thing.” He moved to follow her as she walked in the direction of their home for the night. Wherever there was good wine. “If anyone is going to get the people of Corinth to drink shitty wine, it is sure to be Ikaros. I’d love to see what else he can get them to do.”

“I have met gods.” His own father, he’d spoken with Artemis who’d told him of what had become of Hippolytus that fateful day came to mind. But he shakes the thought, more focused on the idea of the particular god who has seemingly plagued both of his lives blessing anything. He’s bitter, Theseus isn’t all that good at hiding it. His eyes go from the sand to the trickster at his side and his shoulders raise in a slight shrug. It is blasphemy of sorts, to think lowly of the gods, and he doesn’t think he’s that far gone. Or maybe he’s further, he can’t say he’s not jealous that Dionysus got Ariadne during his life and then Narcissus in his afterlife. “It’s been said that they visit Elysium, they sometimes have nothing better to do.” The corners of his lips quirk into a smirk, it’s a light jest. “In this life or the next, they’re never all that far away.” They’re mere feet from his father’s domain and his eyes go to it, watch as the water laps at the sand.

+

There is something sunk deep in his chest like a bur, she thinks. A wound that’s never quite healed, that chafes merely at the thought. And were Mara to wager, she would say that Dionysus is at the center. If she thought Adrian willing to tell of it, she would ask what has burned him so, but instead keeps the thought filed away for later. “How fortunate you are then, to find yourself so easily in the company of the divine, you have the luxury to reject the acquaintance of one.” For Mara, there is no such thing. Her life has been god-touched, and she has desperately strived to reach that peak once again, only to be rejected time and time again by her patron. The gods have hardly cared what happens to the kobaloi, and perhaps Dionysus is of little exception, even if Mara would prefer to think otherwise. “You speak as if you’ve been there,” she says, eyeing Adrian curiously. Elysium has long been lost to her, she is certain that if she were unfortunate enough to pass from this world without her magic, there would be no less waiting for her than a cage in the Tartarus for all her sins. And yet the thought intrigues her all the same, a slight nudge to see what, if anything, Adrian will divulge.

“Amaratha. You mean like the weed, Amarantha?” Narcissus couldn’t help his grin. He liked flowers, though none compared to his own, but he didn’t need to tell the kobaloi that. She probably already knew. “Either way, Mara is a nice name. I like it. It’ll do.” He waved his hand for the bartender to bring him a drink, though he didn’t actually tell the bartender what he wanted. Narcissus looked incredibly annoyed to have to give the man behind the counter attention and not Mara. “Anyway, humans these days are ridiculous. And yes, yes, you should. I don’t pick just about anyone, but I like you. So far. You’re a kobalos. I spoke to Dionysus about you lot. So interesting. I especially adored the festivals. I think it would’ve been better if I was involved. Like…your own personal May Queen or something. I don’t know, either way, I just would’ve made the whole thing a little more exciting.”

+

“Depends on your matter of perspective,” she says easily, brushing off the comment. Perhaps it is an apt comparison for the kobaloi, she considers in amusement. Difficult to get rid of, always cropping up where they are unwanted in this world. “In any case, I find Mara suits me more.” Less of a mouthful, more common in this day and age. It makes for an easier transition back into her old life, when the memories inevitably return. It’s not surprising that he recognizes her for what she is, Mara is expecting that of him — but what is surprising is when he brings up her god, as if he is a friend. She sits forward in her seat just slightly, eyes trailed on Dorian in greater interest as he rattles on, wondering if it could be true. “Our festivals were not for the faint of heart, most outsiders came to regret their involvement.” As it so happened, most of them found themselves on the sacrificial altar, a gift of blood in the name of praise to Dionysus. “But someone of such a great power as your own would no doubt have found himself at home.” 

“Oh, I would never let you wait so long to see me. I wouldn’t want to see the tears upon your dear old face,” he joked. Mara was always someone he admired. He obviously wouldn’t say such a thing out loud considering how she was as a person. Volkan was not the kind of person to give her exactly what she wanted. No, she would have to pull that out of him if she wanted to. And nine times out of ten, she wasn’t going to. “I’ll treasure that thought forever.” He placed a hand over his heart as if it was the most precious thing he had from her. Although, if he truly thought about it, it actually was. Even her brother didn’t have that from her. Perhaps it was a perk from them being married once upon a time. “I would never submit myself to such horrible wine. I have heard nothing good about his place. After you though, my dear.”

“We all come to the source of it all, when the world begins to fracture. The veil disappeared for a moment and we were all human— did that not frighten you?” She couldn’t imagine Mara as ever being frightened, not when she was the girl who waded through cold river water that teemed with leeches, whose arms were bit by the whip of thorny branches from the woods. An indomitable child, with the same clever gaze, always watching as they carried the weight of a thousand lives. She was something special, and if Dionysus had little interest in claiming his children, Penelope had. A small smile touched at her lips, “I never will, either. Your eyes are the same.” She noted it fondly, “It’s how I recognized you.” Gesturing towards the shop, she canted her head. “Would you like to join me? I’d love to hear about what has brought you to the city.”

+

“I am not a woman easily frightened,” she brushes off easily. But the truth is, there had been a piece of Mara that was terrified of the prospect of living a life so dull and unextraordinary. To be nothing more than human again, after having a magic of centuries at her fingertips, she can think of little worse. “They always do,” Mara says quietly. Though there’s some variance to the kobalos’s appearance, based on what genes are inherited, a few of her features always remain the same. It’s never been issue before, the idea that someone outside of her own could use it to identify her; not that she is certain this is an issue. She isn’t sure what to think much at all, really, something that’s untypical for the woman usually so sure of herself. Tentatively, Mara takes a seat at the table across from Penelope. There are so many questions on her tongue, things she wants to ask, but first she’ll settle for the most obvious. “What are you?” Who are you?

“Mara, the wise sister,” Milos said bitterly. “What do you know of that?” He wanted to tell her that this was different than anything else— that he was so certain now: but she was just as likely to cut him back with her words as he was to offer them, and he looked away, he did not need her to sharpen another knife to hold against his throat. He was not a fool, but love made him blind to things that he did not wish to see. Leaning back in his chair the kobalos reached for his wine, draining the contents of the glass before refilling sloppily, letting the red liquid slosh onto the table. It would be for someone else to clean up, or it would stain, but it was not his concern as he brought the glass to his lips once again. “It is not enough,” he said, and the words were pained. “I’ve already lost so much time.” Carding back hair with his free hand, he confessed further. “There are ways to turn a mortal into something supernatural, but she has already carried the werewolf gene, it is not as simple as just letting her get bitten by a vampire.” Milos cut his gaze to Mara, “Is it not worth trying? I’ll sacrifice an entire field of cattle in his name, raze the county of sheep if he wishes for that much blood in his honour. We’ll offer wine, whatever it takes. We’ve never done it before, perhaps he’s just waiting for us to try and get his attention.”

+

“I know enough of loss to be wiser to willfully allowing it in.” There’s a great many people Mara has loved over her years, but in the end, few survived beyond the test of time. A spouse, children, friends and family, in the end the outcome is always the same. Loss. A terrible, painful feeling that crawls deep inside one’s chest, sitting on their lungs and making breathing near impossible. That he would ever attempt to belittle her on such a matter does not sit well with Mara, a scowl tugging at her features. “Contrary to what you might believe, you are not the only person in this world to have experienced love, Milos.” Her tone is sharper now, an undertone of anger and indignation that’s bristling beneath the kobalos’s skin. “There is never enough time. Even if she were immortal, there would still be decades spent apart, waiting on your reincarnation, the years spent in oblivion before magic returns.” It is not an easy life, not for themselves or the ones that chose to love them through it. But Milos is too stubborn to see that, too blinded by his own affections and cocksure arrogance that everything will work out for him. She can see it in his eyes, it’s as if Mara is speaking to a brick wall. “We have prayed for him to speak to us time and time again. What makes you think this will go differently?”

She looked different now, but they always did— but there was a brightness to Mara’s gaze, the confident set of her jaw; those were the pieces of her that she carried always. Penelope stood on the sidewalk, ignoring the brush of those who passed: they cared little for reunions such as these, how could they know it had been hundreds of years since she had seen her last? That brazen girl, whose knees were always bloodied; she had belonged to her once, in the way that children did before they were old enough to strike out on their own. She swallowed, then surged forward, wrapping her arms around her once again. “Hello,” Penelope whispered into her hair. “There is magic here, I was drawn to the Veil.” Leaning back, she reached to brush her thumb over Mara’s cheekbone. “Still beautiful.”

+

For one impossible moment, Mara is taken back to another time. To a world where she had been a little girl, sitting on a beautiful woman’s knee as her hair was brushed, sweet words whispered into her ear. Promises of her strength, the powerful woman she would one day become. She feels it again, when Penelope’s arms wrap around her frame, and for a moment Mara stands there frozen. Of all the people in this world, one she had not expected to see again was the strange and wonderful woman the kobalos had once called mom. Her arms finally return the embrace, but they do not relax, sitting stiff until the other woman pulls away first. “So is everyone, it seems.” The veil, that seemed to be the only thing in the city in which people care about. Her eyes fall upon Penelope’s face, but can find no flaw, no difference at all. “You have not changed.”

His hand easily lifted to his shoulder after she punched him. “Oh, please. You would never even try to. You would miss me too much. Then you’ll have to wait until I get my memories back and then it’s just a whole ordeal that you have to worry about.” It had been too long since they had seen each other for her to get rid of him so quickly. Perhaps a year from now, then he would be worried about irritating her. For now though, he was just too excited about seeing his former wife after so much time. His love for her knew no bounds and she would always be someone he treasured and cared for as many lives as he lived. “When has life not been kind to me. I always look this great,” he stated with a wink. “And I’m glad you’re here. It’s been far too long and I’m sure there’s a lot I haven’t updated you on and vice versa.”

“I love her.” He spoke up, the words sharp— a weak defence to the logic that Mara laid out between them. She didn’t say anything that he didn’t already know, instead, he got up from his reclined position to pace. It was something that he had swallowed down, ignoring while he could. Still, his hand drew over his features and Milos let out a breath, stopping before her to lay his thoughts bare. “There is no one else like her, there has been no one before, there will be no one after.” The words were pleading, a hand out for his older sister to take, to lead him into safety. “I thought,” he had been foolish. “I thought that it would not matter. The gods would see love and let it prevail.” Milos found his seat again, and the wine that he had abandoned and he drank it thirstily. “There is a plan,” he said, brows drawn in. “For her immortality. I wish to petition Dionysus, to ask him for a boon.”

+

“Love will not save her, Milos. Nor you.” It is the simple truth, however sad it may be. Love was not enough to hold her and Volkan together, the millenniums apart had driven a wedge in-between the once married couple where each had moved on with their lives. And that was with the two of them both holding onto their immortality, the chance to see each other again always hanging in the air. Perhaps it is easier to love a mortal, in that way. To know that one life must be, has to be enough, because there will not be another afterwards. But Elif would not be spared from her eventual end, simply because Milos would will it. Even if her brother is too blinded by his affections to see that, Mara knows the truth, and she has no intentions to lie to him of it. “Be happy for the time that you have with her now, then. And know that some people do not even get that.” She tries to be gentle, to lead him into logic without breaking his heart. But his words catch her by surprise, and Mara finds herself taking a step back from her brother, eyes conveying her disbelief. “You truly think Dionysus would answer your call? For her?”