Day 5: Mythology and Creatures
A/N: I bring you a Hades and Persephone AU today, lovelies. It reads a little bit like a myth/fairy tale. Also, there was supposed to be a Klaus POV to this but I’m a writing sloth and ran out of time.
Shhhh. If you’re interested in the part 2, let me know and I’ll finish it and post it at a later date. I hope you like it because I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Anyway, happy reading! :)
xx Ashlee Bree
Fill Me With Your Kissing Death
Long ago, back in the days when wolves still trotted and crouched low in her honeysuckle eyes, hungry for something with no name but afraid to prowl too close to the surface of desire, midnight rose like a chariot from a tomb to tickle the soles of Caroline’s feet. It tilled the earth. Exposed her lampshaded dreams like cartilage. Snapped denial against her two bony kneecaps until she screamed out the letters of her own fate. The rattle roar of ghosts she’d long refused to know stepped out from graves beneath her skin. They zipped into her throat with ease because they were no longer shunned for their shouts which demanded wicked mercy; they were no longer lonely. Cracking open the dual riot in her heart.
Midnight vined her through with darkness pronged in hush. All of that guileless power licking love into old scars until they felt jagged and whole again instead of split open and dripping red with shame. It happened at a time when hunting for blood was deemed wrong for any spring darling because ‘sunlight should be enough to fill up anyone who’s been blessed with a green raindrop touch’; but also in a moment when Caroline could no longer crush the wildness inside. That part of her desperate to grow thorns from her thumbs…that part dying to poison herself with the freedom to seethe.
She’d grown weary of lying. She’d grown so sick of pretending to flourish in a half-life where she spent all her time courted only by the warmth of the sun. For what of the moon? Or of the knifing feeling of night as it’s swallowed like ice through the lungs of the guilty?
What about the withering of seeds after August’s multitude of sins have sucked out all the colors except grey and black? How about the rickety quiet of branches swaying somberly because they’ve paid for their crimes in crumpled brown leaves? Why should it be so wrong, Caroline wondered, yet feel so right, to harness Nature’s brutal tools? Why should it be so terrible to bury the weediest of weeds back beneath the dirt where they belonged?
What if—what if it wasn’t?
Stunted, that’s how she felt. Stuck.
Her head spun and spun in clouds too bright. Her chest heaved, gasping for a squall that tasted of swords and teeth and sweat instead of a rain scented in pinks.
Deep down, Caroline craved transformation and piquancy because she knew she needed more room to cultivate the dueling extremes the gods had planted inside of her. She needed a different kind of garden. One that’d accommodate her bloom-wilting, shiver-burning, rain-droughting ways because the pleasure to shine wasn’t enough anymore.
The sun felt muted.
Warmth was too tepid, too predictable…
It would never fill her up. It would never be enough.