did i hear you scream Who: Obed [Hades] & Isobel [Persephone]. What: Hades kidnaps Persephone, absconding with his new bride to the underworld; then their vessels' reactions. Where: Persephone's meadow; then Pax, D3. When: Ancient times; then middle of the night between March 31 and April 1.
Though the day offered nothing that should make her feel so, Persephone was anxious.
Sunlight was bright, warm on her face; her ladies moved around her, though their chattering and laughter seemed somehow distant, as though a bubble had formed over her ears to block out all other sound. Someone asked her a question; she smiled, reassuring the other that all was well. She looked back down to the bloom she was in the middle of planting; the gaping hole she'd dug, the gentle blue of a daisy reflecting the sky above it lying on its side like a casualty. She picked it up, set it in the hole, and started to smooth dirt into place around the base of its stalk, making sure it was comfortable enough to stand straight and tall.
Once done, she rose up, still seated, wiping her forehead with the back of one hand. She could feel earth smeared over her skin, drenched with sweat, warm, but it felt good.
She did not fully register the trembling of the ground beneath her, her mind writing it away as a misperception. But the sensation did not lessen; instead it grew stronger with each beat of her heart, and in moments its intensity was such that it shook her ladies in waiting to their knees; she tried to stand, to comfort them, but then she too remained low. And then the horizon broke apart.
Four monstrous stallions, sable-black, thundered across the field. Their hooves tore thick clumps of earth from the ground, tossing them up in their wake. Behind them a golden chariot was drawn, its frame embossed with scenes too grim to look upon. And there, calm and immobile astride the chariot, was the black-clad form of Hades, Theon Chthonius. Though he held no hand upon the reins, the horses moved precisely as he willed. They cut a swath of death through the verdant field, their long strides carrying them headlong into the path of the cowering servants. Persephone watched in horror, fear lancing through her every limb and keeping her pinned to where she knelt, helpless to do anything against what was slowly unfolding before her eyes.
Two among the servants were trampled underfoot; the heavy chariot was scarcely jostled in response. Blood shone wet on onyx-black hooves. Fat droplets of gore fell like rain to the grass below, some wetting Persephone's dress and face. The wet, warm feeling of blood across her cheek was a strange contrast to the cold, tight feeling in her gut. Yet the chariot did not stop, only passing Demeter's most prized possession in a blur of black and gold.
Hands cold and hard as granite fitted around the goddess's waist. Despite Persephone's attempts at dissuading him (fragile, white hands pushing ineffectively at his shoulders, his chest, her face that of a ghost's), Hades lifted her onto the chariot, his arm firmly around her as they passed through and away from her field; the chariot jostled her, teeth rattling in her head, hands gripping her transport's sides as she looked down and watched her former home rapidly dwindle from sight. A chasm opened up before them, a black void that yawned wide to welcome them home. The moment they swept through, the pit was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving only bloodstained hoofprints and the deep scars of wheel-ruts behind.
Darkness enveloped them completely. Hades' embrace did not ease until faint lights began to show themselves, deep red winking like dying stars in the blackness around them. Persephone's hands pulsed, her knuckles whitening around the railings of the chariot as her body sought some purchase her mind could wrap itself around. She took a step away from her captor, moving to the far edge of the chariot's platform, watching the dark race past. Then she moved closer to him, taking the devil she knew over the one hiding in the shadows before her.
* * *
When she woke, Isobel wasn't sure she wasn't still in that same darkness; her heart was a frightened rabbit, hammering its way out of her ribcage. But the edge of a window casting a cool, blue light from street lamps and other manmade structures cut into her vision, relieving her as she realized she was in bed still. It was a dream, only a dream, but one that felt so real.
Moving to the side, she slid from the bed, feet pressed to the floor as she put her head between her knees and counted backward slowly, doing breathing exercises meant to calm her as she put her mind back into some semblance of order.
There was a long moment where her partner in bed was so still, so quiet, she might have been entirely alone. As the dream retreated, Obed's hands balled into fists in the sheets, tense enough to tear some small, unseen seam. Sweat soaked the sheets beneath him. He gasped a breath, choking on it, lapsing into a bone-jarring fit of coughing. He sat up with a start, immediately reaching for her.
"Isobel--"
She sprang from the bed, falling on all fours before turning over to face whatever had brushed her. Even the barest touch had been too much, her throat working to swallow back the sound that had nearly torn free; she squeezed her eyes closed, a fist pressed to her chest as she started her count anew. When she opened them again, Obed was sitting on the bed, except it wasn't only him. She could clearly remember the figure from the dream, the man who'd commanded the chariot with a steely gaze, plowing through anything and everything in order to take what he wanted.
Shaking her head, she started muttering apologies, getting to her feet as her cheeks reddened from her apparent foolishness. Her jaw worked, but her voice was barely above a whisper, suddenly drained from her.
The adrenaline the dream had sent through him left him in a flood. His limbs shook, his hands trembling. He steadied them by pressing his palms to his burning face, the better to hide his own discomfort and shame. He knew what she had seen, knew every detail with a clarity and certainty he could not begin to explain.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice chilly and even, an overcorrection intended to hide his upset. His head remained in his hands, his eyes downcast and staring at the sheets. "I didn't mean to surprise you."
Isobel clenched her jaw, drawing her arms into a loose cross over her chest; the white tee she was wearing over pajama bottoms folded over her bosom. One hand loosed itself long enough to tuck hair behind one ear as she shook her head.
"It's..." She wanted to say not you, except it was. She wasn't sure how to explain. "I'm fine." Eyes strained in the darkness to see the digital outline of numbers on Obed's nightstand; 2:31 A.M. Exhaustion lined her bones, and she wanted nothing more than to lay down and go back to sleep; she could not, however, propel herself forward to lay down in the bed. She stood, frozen, for at least two minutes, watching the numbers scroll by on the clock.
"I'm going to get a drink of water," she offered by way of excuse, walking around the king-sized piece of furniture; she padded down the hall to the kitchen, where the gentle sounds of a cupboard door opening, a tap running, could be heard that gave evidence to her actions. After another five long minutes, it was clear she was not returning.
He slipped his legs off the side of the mattress. The shaking had lessened somewhat, though the nightmare lingered. It was enough to allow him to follow her, at least. He padded out into their apartment, his footfalls echoing in the cavernous space. Hanni looked up, watching him go, but did not leave his comfortable place at the foot of the bed.
"Isobel?" He paused in the living room, peering out into the darkness. His eyes had adjusted well enough to see her silhouette on the sofa, faintly limned in light from the windows. He asked a question whose answer he already knew, hoping she would prove him wrong. "Are you all right?"
A glass of water hovered between her hands, nearly untouched by for a faint outline of a lip print around the rim. She tensed as he approached, clearly ready to put more space between them if necessary.
"I'm fine," she repeated, a buffer that was meant to remove more than reassure; her voice was thick, clearly on the edge of tears she was desperately trying to prevent. Reaching out carefully, she put the mostly-full glass on the coffee table in front of her; glass on glass made a faint, singular tinkle throughout the dark, cavernous apartment. "I just... I need a minute."
"Okay."
He took a seat in a chair near to her. He hoped the space between them was enough to comfort her, but no sooner had he thought this than he worried it was too much space. He grit his teeth, wondering what the right response was here, what gesture or words might best ease this pain. It was difficult to know how to soothe her when his own pulse still raced too quickly, his thoughts more than a match. He heard the scraping of his teeth echoing in his own head.
"Isobel… please talk to me."
She couldn't. There were no words for the fear that raced through her veins; no, there were, but they were too close to what she felt about Bryan, and what she never wished to feel about Obed. Isobel squeezed her eyes shut, her head throbbing with a gong-like sound that she thought she could will away so she might be able to think. Instead, her body felt itself propelled to stand, wrapping her arms around her middle again, putting the coffee table between them. She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth softly as her gaze raked along the ground to finally settle on him; even then, it kept dancing away as though afraid to fully register his presence.
"I just... It was a dream. That's all." She did not sound convinced. She took steps away from him, dancing to and fro quietly, tired but electrified at the same time. She made a gentle gasp, tears flooding her eyes; she wiped at them delicately with one hand, doing her best to hold herself together. "It was just a dream."
No matter what Obed did, the knot in his throat did not budge. His hands curled around his knees, nails digging into his skin as if to center him. To hear confirmation of what he had already known made it more real somehow. More damning. A larger obstacle he did not know how to scale. His teeth sank into the tip of his tongue, worrying at it.
"It was," he said. "I know it was. It was just a dream. But… but I know how those can feel. Especially dreams like… that. So if you need time alone…" He stood, but did not move closer to her. "I can sleep on the couch. All right? I'll take the couch. You go get comfortable, if you can."
She was already shaking her head by the first mention of couch. She gestured at the wide bay windows that showed far more light than the bedroom, as though this were an acceptable rebuttal to his offer.
"No," she said, voice scratchy but firm, swallowing a few times before continuing. "You go back to bed. I'm fine...out here. Just... I'm fine." She didn't want to say that it was wider, more open, the first time she felt grateful they had such expansive lodgings. She could easily get lost and remain unfound within its confines, away from him. The bedroom, by contrast, was too small, dark, intimate, and if she could avoid being there, avoid attaching the memory of the dream to it, so much the better. The more Isobel thought about it, the more she realized she'd probably just end up watching the sun rise in a few hours, and then head into work early. Some sort of escape was desired more than what he could offer, which was too glaringly clear, and Isobel stumbled toward trying to make some amends.
"You need the bed more than I do. Maybe... maybe call in sick, to work?" After a beat, she forced herself forward, slowly closing the distance between them until her knee just barely brushed his. "I want you to get some sleep."
He started to touch her, but forced his hands to remain at his sides. Just this much proximity was a step forward, and he would not be the one to ruin it. Not when it was so abundantly clear she wanted to be anywhere but near him. He took a step back, shaking his head. His thoughts ran nearer to hers than he knew.
"I think I'm going to get a shower," he said. "I know I'm not going to get back to sleep. I'll walk Hanni and go to work. I can make some breakfast for you before I go, if you'd like."
A negative response started to eke its way out of her mouth, but she blindsided it, wanting so badly for this to not fall apart. What looked like her shaking her head no turned into a simple nod. She loosed her arms from around her middle, mimicking him in taking a step back; she furthered it by sitting, her discontent with the situation clear on her face. After a beat, she put her head in her hands, sighing heavily. Isobel pushed her hair back behind her ears, glancing at Obed.
"Yes, please," she finally replied, her voice as low as ever, the formerly mentioned actions taking only moments. "I'd love that."
Obed remained there for a moment, silent and still. Then he nodded, turning away, and shuffled off into the darkness. After a time, muffled sounds emanated from the bathroom on their master suite; doors opening and closing, the white noise of falling water. Beyond that there was only silence, heavier than it had ever been in their palatial home.