The woman veiled in death did not often consider herself to be ignorant of her surroundings. In her father’s realm she had known every rock and every crevice, finding them preferrable places to lurk when he was in one of his dark moods. As Lord of the Underworld, he almost always seemed to be of vile spirits. To many, Melinoë’s reality would seem unkind and no place for a child. There had been times that, she too, had cursed her mother for never care enough to bring her children to explore the mortal world with her. Left with nothing but stories, the child’s mind had been left to run rampant. Perhaps she should have been more full of hate than she was – but she simply couldn’t bring herself to care. Pushing herself farther from the sea, she did not see the bay stallion as soon as she ought to have. It isn’t until his gruff voice breaks the earthy silence surrounding her that she freezes, her head jerking towards him with pin-pricked pupils. Her brow fell into a frown, the look accentuating her odd beauty as he drew attention to the frost that had begun to gather upon her coat. Of course, it was cold! Her mother was below ground, serving her father. His comment is more agitated given its ignorance. Stamping her hoof, she does not shy away from his attention, nor does she continue on her way. “No,” she denied with calm simplicity. “That is impossible.” There was an often misconception that the underworld was fire and brimstone. In certain spots, that much was true – but, for the vast majority, it was built upon all that was cold and lifeless. In the places Melinoë preferred to haunt, the cold had been so thick her breath would almost be enough to produce a blanket of snow. She had not fallen ill then, nor any other time throughout her life. It was an entertaining notion that she might fall prey to the wintery wind now. Tilting her head, she kept her ears trained on the stranger who intended to slow her progress. Normally she did not entertain the living, except to prey on their sadness and guilt. Magic gone, she felt naked without her wall of security. Her lips parted and vocal cords strained, ready to ask him his name, but, just as she was preparing to send forth her inquiry, all sound died as another voice joined the fray. Head snapping, she glared towards the stranger, his question oddly redundant. “I did not choose to go swimming,” she attempted to explain, not really fully grasping how odd her words might be perceived. “I was spit out from the places beneath the sea.” Both seemed odd in their interest of her. Dripping wet and standing perfectly still, she was like the ghosts she used to bond with. Though her body was there, her mind was elsewhere – buried by the many question she longed to ask those who had not wanted her. |
@[bethlehem] & @[midnight]