#nighternal

@nighternal ,   blood   and   darkness.

BAREFEET   PUSH   THROUGH   WATER,   slow   in   their   rhythm   back   and   forth.   the   breeze,   ever   moving,   is   almost   taunting   over   the   fact   that   she,   for   now,   is   not.   nails   dig   into   earth   perhaps   a   bit   harsher   than   she   intends,   for   it   is   not   the   reason   she   has   failed.   the   elements   are   all   around   her,   bountiful,   full,   going   on,   but   it   is   the   one   which   has   dimmed   that   the   princess   finds   her   concern   with   —   the   fire   which   is   meant   to   burn   in   her   chest,   lick   at   her   heels   and   urge   her   onwards   with   all   the   rest?   tonight,   she   cannot   seem   to   stoke   it   towards   former   brilliance.   it   seems   she's   not   the   only   one   aware   of   it's   loss.   perhaps   there   are   those   who   look   to   her   like   a   light   upon   the   docks,   who   count   on   her   to   guide   them   home.   no,   not   perhaps.   certainly.   so   then   is   it   so   shocking   that   they,   too,   notice   when   it   has   gone? 

all   melinoë   can   offer   is   a   nod,   to   begin.   it   comes   slow,   alongside   the   stilling   of   her   legs,   weighted   by   shame.   ❝   and   i   suppose   there   is   something   to   be   said   for   trying?   ❞   but   rather   than   raise   eyes   to   artemis,   they   are   raised   skyward   —   her   light   shines   on,   too.   it   illuminates   her   all   the   same.   even   she   retreats,   however.   she   has   nights   where   she   is   quiet.   why   should   she   not   follow   suit?   SHE   KNOWS   WHY   NOT,   pushes   off   child's   wants.   she   looks,   now.   faces   one   of   many   let   down,   her   smile   tight   as   she   rectifies   petulant   attitude,   ❝   —   of   course   there   is.   i'm   grateful   for   the   reminder,   as   i   always   am.   ❞   because   artemis   does   not   give   up;   she   hunts   whether   the   moon   is   full   or   waning   or   hidden.   another   lesson   she has yet to get through her head,   it   seems.   

her voice splinters something in him and he remembers how he has never quite been whole. or rather, he has chosen to break himself apart so that he could be with company. his eyes to chaos, his voice to orpheus, his skin and bone in each cracked shell of cosmic egg that lingers, handed down from god to god like a souvenir from the forbidden. he would give them everything if he could, to see creation flourish toward destruction, then change to wrap its callous fingers around life and work, like art, and expand the great vastness of the universe. that was his purpose, was it not ?? to bestow destiny and time with change. and though he could have sworn he had already given all he had left to give, her question tries to pull more from him that he is not willing to part with.

he doesn't know how to tell her the truth.

that he had always known that her parent unwittingly brought the titan to his throne, and the beast of typhon that ran amuck was another oversight of theirs. that though he had sworn to never get involved again, he could only watch this thoughtless betrayal unravel and do nothing to stop it. and even when he tried, he was too late. somehow, he had always known that she would end up there, frozen in her suffering, her children lost across the realms. and the fates, who cried and wailed, their voices ringing in his ears with every passing day—he had always known, the moment it had come to be, that the world he broke himself to create would nearly end in war.

“ i... ” his voice trembles. she looks at him and he remembers the day she was born. he thinks about the time she spent with chaos, lost days regained and torn apart yet again. and how hard he fought with her parent after they had done the very thing he had sworn not to do. he doesn't know how to confront the truth. that he feels the company he worked so hard to create is starting to splinter and break before him. and maybe it is his fault. maybe he should have done more. he doesn't know.

Lifted Chin -- @nighternal

Nico's always enjoyed spending time in his mother's garden. Although he doesn't have a green thumb like she does, he has at least learned the basic of minding the garden--trimming dead flowers here, cutting back overgrowth there, knowing just how much to water. They don't flourish quite as richly under his touch, but at least he hadn't killed any of her plants while Persephone was above.

Hearing a gentle padding down the gravel path behind him, he scooted slightly to the side, hoping to make room so that whoever it was could pass easily while he kept working. But the footsteps stopped and a gentle touch to his chin made him look upward, recognizing the touch before he saw who it was.