WHO: Melpomene and Alan WHEN: Monday late morning WHERE: Alan and Will's WHAT: Bad news all round! WARNINGS: TBD
Alan had got up before her, leaving her in his bed reluctantly after a late morning's start of warm, slow kisses. As he left – stepping out into his flat to find Much’s note – she rearranged the pillows against the bedhead and sunk back into them, reading through her phone.
The sun is set Cassandra had said, and Melpomene felt the world start to tilt. My brother is dead Artemis said, and a feeling like screaming started building inside her. How had Hermes – the coward, the absolute, unworthy coward - got the best of him? Or had she deeply, deeply underestimated the power of the Sheriff?
Or – a thought that felt like treason even to think – had she overestimated Apollo?
The shock hit too hard for her to drag up any answers, making her breath rush, and she shot out a few fast and angry replies to Artemis, to Cassandra, before she couldn’t handle it anymore. Apollo, dead? Apollo dead. Pain – grief or rage – bent her forward in Alan’s bed, fists clenched in the covers and she cried out, sending her phone flying into the wall with a bang, and then anything else nearby; an empty water glass from the bedside table and a book got the same treatment, and then Melpomene covered her mouth with both hands, and let the pain crack her open in heavy, deep sobs.