Chapter Text
Consciousness returns to Melinoë in waves far gentler than those at the beach where she faces Eris on her way to Olympus.
Her eyes feel weightier than Zorephet and refuse to open beyond the tiniest sliver when she commands them to. Reluctantly, she accepts yet another defeat, this one nowhere near as humiliating as the last, at least, and allows herself some moments of rest to gather her thoughts and just breathe.
The light shining down upon her is warmer than usual. Heavier, in a way. Almost aggressive. More akin to Cousin Apollo’s harsh sunlight that Sister Selene’s soft moonlight, but that makes no sense; light like that doesn’t reach the Crossroads. She must be really out of it still; who knew dying would turn out to be so disorienting?
And to think Zagreus does it all the time… Augh…
Her head feels fuzzy, like it’s been cracked open, filled to the brim with all the wool she’s obtained through her many clashes with Polyphemus, then patched up again most haphazardly. The sensation is somewhat reminiscent to that of Lord Dionysus’ boons at their highest potency. Except, without the sweet aftertaste that often follows; right now all she can taste is the lingering flavor of her own blood.
Ripples of white-hot pain sear their way across her body, leaving no part unscathed, no matter how big or small. Even her spectral arm is in agony, which shouldn’t be physiologically possible, and, for some odd reason, her flaming feet are wet and cold still. She hasn’t been in this much pain after a lost fight since she first confronted Typhon and Chronos at once a few lunar cycles ago, and even that pales in comparison to this.
There is an itch at the front of her throat. It’s the least of her concerns and more bearable than her other afflictions, but uncomfortable nonetheless. She clears her throat once, twice, then tries groaning it away instead when that fails, but there it remains. Irremovable. Like it has made itself at home and refuses to go.
Worst of all, though, is that she can still feel Scylla everywhere.
Her tentacles holding onto her arms and legs, her nose brushing against hers, her teeth digging into her throat like a starved beast getting its first fill of blood in aeons. Her lips grazing her neck. Her grunt of pain and ragged breaths echoing deep inside her mind just like her blasted catchy songs.
“Ungh… I hate her…” She winces at the croak-like sound that leaves her mouth. “I prefer their smaller shows. What about you, Frinos?”
Silence.
“Frinos?”
The silence stretches on.
Frowning, she pries her eyes open and instantly hisses at the light that assaults them. It’s so bright, too bright, and it takes her a few moments to grow accustomed to it. When she does, she tries again, and the bluest sky she has ever seen comes into view.
“What the…?”
The Sun is at its zenith, or so she assumes, unused to it as she is. That, according to Odysseus’ tales of his many years at sea, means it’s midday. Or close enough to it to be deeply alarming anyway.
Startled, Melinoë sits up in spite of the screams of protest from her body and finds herself staring at a beautiful, endless, glimmering sea that becomes one with the sky at the horizon.
A mirage of Scylla’s eyes appears in her mind at the sight, so she shakes her head with a frustrated groan and looks down instead.
Beneath her, nigh-on golden sand.
Her lips part in bewilderment as she watches a small wave reach the shore and brush her feet almost tenderly. The sizzling sound that follows is so much like the one her feet made against Scylla’s tentacles when she tried to kick her away that it snaps her out of her stupor. She takes a step back as though the sea has burnt her and not the other way around.
“Why am I…? How…?” Her already disjointed musings come to a halt when she turns around in search for answers. Where she was expecting to see Mount Olympus in all its battle-worn splendor, she instead finds a mortal fortress overlooking the sea from up a cliff. Her stomach twists and churns. “What is going on? Where am I?”
She died.
She actually died.
Scylla ripped her throat apart before she could utter the incantation to return to shadow. She felt the River Styx calling to her. She should be back at the House, emerging from it just like Zagreus and Megaera did while she grew up in the alternate reality, laughing off the shame from a lost battle with them, not wherever this is.
“Wait… The alternate reality…” A relieved smile appears on Melinoë’s face. “That’s it! This must be one of the old Chronos’ residual magick tricks! It doesn’t matter where I am, let alone when; this is just a vision like any other.”
Those things do happen in Oceanus, after all, and the air certainly feels wrong. As if time isn’t flowing fully right. If at all.
“But why not send me to Asphodel as always? Why the surface?” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “First Scylla does something completely unprecedented, and now Chronos… I need to inform Odysseus of this as soon as I break free from this illusion.”
With a resolute nod, she sets off in the direction that feels the rightest to her in her pursue of the sand vortex: the rocky promontory that is united to the mainland by a narrow neck and is a tad more shrouded in shade than the other way.
Melinoë can only handle so much sunlight at a time, and that is when Cousin Apollo shines her path for the night.
If anything, this is what it must feel like to be at the end of the Lunar Ray with Cousin Apollo’s godsend and the entirety of the Path of Stars unlocked. She certainly doesn’t envy her enemies in the slightest.
In the quietude of her walk, questions begin to assail her:
These unprecedented actions, are they a result of the high Fear in the night? If so, why now? They’ve never done anything like this all the other times I have taken on so many Vows.
And there have been many, many such times, for she’s been trying to become Night’s Champion ever since Comander Schelemeus told her about the gifts from Night in the training grounds.
The way in which the statues she’s unveiled so far depict her might be inaccurate and, quite frankly, a tad embarrassing for her sensibilities, but she needs to see this challenge through no matter what. Such is her duty both to the Unseen and as Princess of the Underworld.
But conquering the Underworld on a night crawling with Fear such as that O Night demands has proven to be much more difficult than originally expected. She can count the amount of times she’s reached Chronos throughout her countless attempts on one hand; each time she loses, she takes a different set of Vows, a different weapon and aspect, a different arrangement of gods, and tries again, on and on and on until she finally succeeds.
Why would the Titan send me here right as I was dying? Or was it right before? Or right after? How long have I been here, anyway? And where is Frinos? And my weapons?
As she nears the promontory, a faint hum reaches her ears, drowning out her thoughts with ease. The tune is soft, slow, alluring. Beckoning her to follow it past the edge of the world.
And, above all, it is infuriatingly familiar.
Melinoë recognizes it right away, of course. How could she not? She has heard it plenty of times by now. Has, though she would never admit this aloud to neither a living nor a dead soul, asked the Music Maker to play it at the taverna when everyone is away on assignment or on break. All because of two hauntingly enchanting lines that she can hear even now:
Sail free
Find me
Melinoë shakes her head yet again. Blood and darkness! Why can’t I get her out of my blasted mind? Perhaps I should have cursed her when Madame Circe asked me to, after all. I wouldn't have to suffer through her obnoxiousness every other night if I… Wait, is that… There’s someone there…
A woman is sitting at the edge of the beach beneath the rocky headland of the promontory. An Oceanid, judging by the light blue scales on her bare back and the fins protuding from her forearms and the sides of her head. Her hair is the same as the waters in the Rift of Thessaly, so deeply blue it is almost black, and it falls in loose waves down her shoulders. She appears rather non-threatening all around, but, should the need arise, Melinoë is ready to fight her even without her weapons.
There is simply no way of telling what will or will not happen in this illusion. She refuses to be made a fool once more.
Warily, she approaches her and says, “Um, hello, excuse me…”
The humming stops abruptly, and the nymph turns around. Her azure lips are parted in what appears to be surprise, her eyes wide open and so deeply aquamarine that Melinoë struggles to breathe for a moment.
She’s only seen such a hue in… in…
“No way,” the nymph breathes out. “No way.”
The pitch of her voice, the choice of words, their tone and pacing… She knows all of it all too well. There is nobody else, be it in the Underworld or on the surface, who speaks like that, who sounds like that, but… but that doesn’t make sense.
Even in an illusion, that doesn’t make any sense.
Melinoë swallows dryly. “Scylla?”
“Lady,” the nymph—Scylla—says with a small smile that has no right to look as sweet and innocent as it does. “How did you- what are you doing here?”
“I should be the one asking that,” Melinoë scoffs. “You must be a visage that the Titan has crafted to torment me. Or perhaps to finish what you started at the stage.”
“Whoa, I’m not sure about the visage thing lately, but Titan? Crafted to torment you? Finish what I started? What are you even talking about, lady?”
Melinoë rolls her eyes and looks away. “I refuse to bother with you any more than I need to. Especially after what you did to me last night.” She turns and looks everywhere but at Scylla. “Now, tell me, have you seen a sand vortex around?”
“It’s not like I can move from here, so, no, I haven’t seen whatever that is.”
“Wonderful,” Melinoë says, then starts to walk back to where she came from and pretends that Scylla’s sputtering doesn’t make something in her stomach twist and coil.
“H-hey! Hey, lady, wait! Where are you going?”
Once again, Melinoë rolls her eyes and keeps on walking.
“Are you still mad about last night?” Scylla says next, and Melinoë can’t help the scoff that escapes her. Dammit. “I’m sorry! Truly, I am, but what happened is not my fault!”
Melinoë’s right eye twitches, and she whirls back to Scylla with the ferocity of Zorephet’s Ω Attack at full charge. If she had it in hand, if she could summon it in this illusion, she would drive it into her throat as payback for last night and to be done with her drivel once and for all.
As it stands, all she can do is approach her, grab her by the neck with her spectral arm, and squeeze it a fair amount in warning.
The shock in Scylla’s eyes and the way her pulse quickens beneath her fingertips tastes sweeter than even the sweetest Ambrosia.
“How dare you mock me?”
“N-no! No, lady, I didn’t—! I wasn’t—!” Her hands come up, not to try to push Melinoë’s away, but to merely touch it. Hold it, even. “I told you—she told you; she doesn’t like to listen to me anymore! Not unless it’s something we both agree on!”
Confused by the odd phrasing, Melinoë loosens her hold on Scylla’s throat and looks at her, really looks at her, for the first time since she realized that the nymph sitting at the edge of the promontory was actually her.
Looks at her fearless aquamarine eyes, framed by light blue scales from her temples to mid-cheek; at the pleading pout of her azure lips; at the starfish on her chest, not embedded into it but hanging over it through a string around her neck.
At the lower half of her body, submerged in murky, bloodied water, her mangled and misshapen legs, if that’s what they are, not quite hidden away by it.
Scylla doesn’t so much as try to squirm away once in the meantime. Nor does she move her hand from Melinoë’s.
“Who…” Melinoë starts, frowning, “Who are you? What is this place?”
“I’m Scylla,” she says before bringing her other hand to the area below her midsection, where her body is torn to shreds. “Or at least I used to be, before Circe cursed me. And this is Messina, the place where she cursed me and where I’ve been stuck in ever since.”
Understanding comes to Melinoë with the force of one of Nemesis’ punches.
This must be Scylla’s subconscious. But… But how? Chronos doesn’t have that type of magick; the only people who I know that have that sort of power are me and Headmistress, Lord Hypnos, and Almighty Chaos… Oh… Ooh…
Come to think of it, she did hear Almighty Chaos speaking to her while she was dying. Something about a new mark, was it?
She couldn’t pay much attention to them since she was too busy dying, but that would explain it. Now that the mystery has finally been resolved, there is only one little problem left.
How in blazes is she supposed to leave?
“Madame Circe didn’t curse you,” Melinoë says distractedly, trying to figure out Chaos’ conditions here, “she just revealed your true nature.”
At that, Scylla barks a shrill laugh, and that is a sound she is more used to, at least. Her sardonic smile doesn’t fit such a pretty face. “Is that what she told you, lady?”
“I fail to see how that matters here.”
“She did, then.” Scylla laughs again, slower, deeper, bitterer, and Melinoë flushes both at the unfamiliar tone and its vibrations underneath her fingertips. “So, I was a monster all along according to her, huh? Why? Because of my parents? Because I was consorting with Sirens? Or, maybe, because that mortal man who became a god through sheer dumb luck who she was infatuated with fell in love with me? Please, do enlighten me.”
Melinoë can only blink at the onslaught of information. “What…? But, Madame Circe never said…”
“Hah! Of course she didn’t, and likely never shall! Most gods’ pride is bad enough as is, now imagine that of Helios’ youngest, dearest, can-do-no-wrong precious daughter.” Scylla clicks her tongue. “And yet, that’s what drew me to her. Great Thalassa below, I was such a fool.”
Melinoë’s eyebrows raise all the way to the crescent moon on her forehead. “Um, I must have misheard you. You were—?”
“Drawn to her, yes,” Scylla confirms, groaning. “Hopelessly infatuated with her, more like. We met at one of Helios’ solstice parties a long, long time ago. I was there to entertain the guests with my singing and dancing, she was there because she had to be. Disadvantages of being the host’s dear daughter.” A pause, then a sigh. “She was resplendent.”
Ignoring the squeamish sensation in the pit of her stomach at the almost-fond look on Scylla’s face as she reminisces, she finally lets go of her neck and blushes profusely when she realises she had been holding onto it this entire time. Flustered, she clears her throat and sits down next to her. It is not like she can do much else other than listening to her for the time being.
Scylla offers her a small smile before continuing on, “I don’t think she liked my performance much; she was scowling the entire time. I didn’t know it then, but she had me all figured out at that moment.”
“Is this about your parents?” Melinoë asks. “You mentioned them before. Who are they, if I may ask?”
Scylla gapes at her like a fish. “You don’t know who they are?”
Melinoë shrugs. “I don’t know much about you. Is it supposed to be common knowledge or something?”
“Or something,” Scylla chuckles. “Though, to be fair, it was more of an open secret back then. They’re Phorcys and Crataeis, the Father of Sea Monsters and the most fearsome Nereid that’s ever lived. When Circe turned me into a monster all those aeons ago, everyone assumed it was bound to happen and just… moved on with their lives.”
“And how do you know that if you have been stuck in here since then?”
“Jetty and Roxy told me.” Her lips curl up into a smitten smile, and her scale-clad cheeks flush a deep blue. “They kept me company as much and often as they could after that. If not for them, I would’ve gone mad from grief and anger much sooner. The never-ending hunger certainly didn’t help either. When Poseidon tried to smite me and I fell into the Underworld, they followed after me.”
Melinoë shifts where she sits in the rocks at the admission. She’s never thought much of Jetty and Roxy other than considering them nuisances during their clashes and occasionally feeling pity for them for being stuck with someone as bossy and self-absorbed as Scylla.
Or so she thought, anyway. Apparently there is more to them all than she ever thought possible. Tonight is turning out to be too unpredictable and weird for her liking.
“You did call them ‘my gals’,” she says, the term awkward and clunky in her mouth, “during our fight, so there’s that, I suppose.”
“One of the few things both sides of me agree on!” Scylla cheerfully replies. “Anyway, where was I?”
“Madame Circe figuring you out.”
“Ah, yes, thank you, lady.” She takes a deep breath, sighs, and says, “So, Circe was scowling at me the entire time, right? Well, you know me… sort of… I don’t let stuff like that bother me. In fact, that only made me find her even more charming. Same as you, more or less.”
Melinoë’s eyes widen. “So Bewitching Eyes is how you truly feel about me!”
“Noooo,” Scylla drawls, grinning. “I thought we’d already established that Jetty mostly wrote that one?”
Against her better judgement, Melinoë finds herself smiling back at Scylla. “You are an even worse liar than Eris, Scylla.”
“Yeah, Jetty and Roxy always said I am an awful liar. Still do.” She sighs wistfully. “So, Circe was scowling at me and all I could think of was, wow, that woman is beautiful, I want her on top of me before this party ends.”
“On… top of you?”
Scylla’s aquamarine eyes twinkle with mirth. “I wanted her to fuck me in one of the guestrooms until my scales fell off, basically. Or in public; I’ve never been too choosey.”
Melinoë chokes on her own spit at the unexpectedly salacious comment.
“It’s a Nymph thing, lady,” Scylla says with a smirk, then continues like nothing happened, “But, no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t catch her alone for more than a few moments. The party went on, of course, and eventually there was this one Satyr who had one too many bottles of Ambrosia and tried to get too handsy with her.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.” Once again, Scylla touches the mangled flesh below her midsection. “She turned him into a pig. A big, fat, squealing pig. I thought she looked absolutely glorious as she did.” She stares dead ahead, like she is seeing the events replay in the horizon. “Her mouth was curled back in a sneer, and her eyes had this majestically golden glow to them. Powerful beyond words, yet so regal at the same time. She was even more radiant than Helios himself. When I told Jetty and Roxy about it, they teased me for a while, but…”
Melinoë inches forward, captivated by the story despite herself. “But…?”
To her surprise, Scylla’s fin-ears droop a little. “But they also warned me to be very, very careful. Said that there is much more to lose than to win with goddesses like Circe. And they were right, but for reasons none of us were expecting. She fell for this mortal man who lucked out his way into being a sea-god, but he fell in love with me instead even though I insisted incessantly that I don’t value the company of men. And so she cursed me, and the rest is history.”
“So you say, but,” Melinoë chimes in, frowning, “why fight me every night, then? Surely you must know that I’m a witch and a goddess, much like Madame Circe.” In fact, she is related to her since Grandmother Demeter is one of Helios’ sisters, but best not tell her that. “Why write Bewitching Eyes? And do you truly expect me to believe any of this?”
Because she doesn’t, and refuses to.
This overly sensational story makes no sense no matter how she tries to look at it. It doesn’t fit with anything Madame Circe has told her of Scylla, and, in the very unlikely case it is true, then that would mean Madame Circe is at fault for everything.
That would mean Scylla is an innocent victim, and that Madame Circe did curse her. Over something as petty and insignificant as a man, no less.
No, no, no! That’s not right! That can’t be true Madame Circe would never do such a thing!
It’s all Scylla’s fault. It has to be.
Scylla leans back on her forearms. “In order: we fight you because you started it by insulting my gals—”
Melinoë huffs, “I so did not!”
“Sure you did! You said, and I quote, don’t you drown your so-called fans to death? Do you have any left?” Scylla grins. “That was so rude!”
“Yet here you are, smiling about it.”
“It’s a Nymph thing, lady, Nereids and Oceanids go with the flow, so to speak,” she says, mimicking a wave with her arm. “Back to your other questions, though: I told you Jetty was the one who mostly wrote that one, but, let’s say I did for a moment…” She winks at her, and the action send a thrill down her spine as electrifying as her Lord Uncle Zeus’ lightning. “I thought I had made it quite clear that I like powerful ladies with gorgeous eyes. Ah-ah-ah!” She holds up a hand. “Before you ask, lady, Jetty’s got eyes just like coral and Roxy like the giant green anenome. Beautiful, the both of them. Or the four of them, I guess I should say.”
“I’ll take you at your word.” Melinoë frowns. “Hey, how did you know I was going to ask that?”
Scylla sticks her tongue out at her. “Because you are so obvious, lady. And they have bangs to hide the fact that their pupils are slits; easier to drown sailors when they don’t see them. Now, I, for one, find that utterly attractive, but a gal’s got to do what a gal’s got to do to eat her fill every once in a while, you know.” She bites her lower lip, and Melinoë’s eyes follow that movement like it’s a new spell to study. “As for whether I expect you to believe me… Not really, no.”
“You’re not really helping your case, you know.”
“Ehh,” Scylla says, shrugging. “You hate me, clearly like and respect Circe if you go around calling her Madame Circe all the time, and are still upset over last night, which, fair enough. You probably made up your mind before I even opened my mouth.”
Melinoë purses her lips. Scylla’s not entirely wrong, sure, but agreeing with her leaves a bitter taste in her mind, so she says nothing.
Scylla, apparently, is content enough with her non-answer, and turns back to look at the sea in front of them with a smile. As though she’s just been proven right and is happy to bask in her not-quite-victory.
For her part, Melinoë follows her line of sight and sees something she’s failed to notice until now.
The water in front of her is murky and bloodied, yes, but there is a small portion that remains pure and crystal clear, much like a twisted reflection of Narcissus’ chamber in Oceanus. Unlike his chamber, though, the water here doesn’t mirror her or Scylla, but rather an entire different location.
Through it she can see Scylla’s greenroom and, most surprisingly, Scylla herself as she knows her holed up in her shell. The Sirens are lying against her, Jetty on her left playing the keytar and Roxy on her right tapping on the shell.
Mystified, she watches the nymph beside her dip her hands into the water where Jetty’s and Roxy’s faces are in a cradling motion, an utterly adoring smile on her face, and the shell shimmies in response.
This must be how Scylla’s subconscious interacts with the real world, she muses, watching the three laze about in their greenroom. To be relegated to the back of her own self like this, to mere instincts and sensations, though… That’s…
Melinoë observes this Scylla in silence long enough that she starts to hum again. At first she thinks it’s Bewitching Eyes, and flushes accordingly. But, as the tune goes on, she realizes it’s the one that preceeds it, the one about glimmering riches and the temptations of the sea.
Knowing what she knows now, she wonders if the lines visions of maids with their scales of green, go for a swim and they’ll be your queen are actually about Jetty. Funny what a little bit of insight does. She doesn’t know how to feel about it.
As she listens to Scylla, her thoughts drift back to Almighty Chaos.
Why did they send me here? Do they want me to kill her subconscious and get rid of her for good? But… no, that doesn’t sounds like them at all.
Her eyes trail over Scylla’s side profile slowly, from her temple to the soft curve of her jaw, counting all twenty-seven scales along the way, until something draws her attention further down.
A set of three gills, closed but visible, right where her hand had been. She shouldn’t be so surprised by them, Scylla mentions them in Bewitching Eyes; but she’s never seen them before, hasn’t had much of a reason to between one fight and the next, so the novelty of them takes her aback.
Two thoughts cross her mind at the same time as she stares at them:
Did it hurt when I grabbed her there?
What sorts of sounds would she make if I kissed her there?
Melinoë shakes her head to clear that second thought away, silently cursing whence it came, well aware that Lady Aphrodite’s not at fault for this despite her previous claims but rather a deeply depraved part of herself that just won’t go away, until a third one chills her to the core—
What if Almighty Chaos noticed my wandering thoughts during the fight and is testing me now to see what I’ll do about them…
That… certainly sounds like an experiment, and, in turn, something Almighty Chaos would be intersted in.
Melinoë’s heart stutters in her chest.
Distantly, she thinks of Nemesis and what she told her in that glade in Erebus so many moons ago. “Been having thoughts, but of a different kind. You got into my head. I want you out,” and how acting on those thoughts made things much easier and smoother between the two of them.
But this is Scylla, not Nemesis.
This is Scylla, but also not quite. This is just her subconscious, a glimpse of who she once was and ceased to be a long time ago, longer than Melinoë’s been alive. Someone who does and doesn’t exist anymore.
Someone who is arguably attracted to her as Melinoë is to her, most begrudgingly, and won’t turn her down in her time of need.
It’s insane, and she shouldn’t even be considering this…
But it’s her only chance to act on those annoying, insane thoughts safely once and for all before they rot and fester into something even worse.
Both a blessing and a curse.
Cheers, Chaos.
“Scylla?”
Scylla stops humming again, and looks at her with a curious look and smile. She tilts her head a little, and her fin-ears flap ever so slightly.
Gods, she’s beautiful. Even as a monster she is beautiful, which shouldn’t be the case in the first place, but now?
Melinoë can see why men, gods, and sea monstresses would fall for the nymph in front of her with frightening ease. If her voice isn’t enough to draw someone in, then her looks certainly will.
Or, well, she supposes they once did.
“Yes, lady?”
“I’m willing to put your story into fair consideration,” she says slowly, “if you help me with a quandary of mine.”
Scylla’s fin-ears flap at that again. “For you, lady? I’ll do anything.”
Melinoë’s mouth runs dry. There is a fire deep in her gut, hotter than Great-Auntie Hestia’s flames, and the only thing thay can douse it is right in front of her. Slowly, she scoots closer to Scylla until her arms are aflush with one another.
“Lady?” Scylla asks, her cool breath brushing against Melinoë’s mouth. Another little flap. “Are you…?”
“You got into my head,” Melinoë echoes Nemesis’ words, delighting in the way Scylla’s pupils expand and drown out the beautiful aquamarine of her eyes until only a fine ring remains. “I don’t know how, or why, or even when, but you’re in my mind most of the time now.”
Scylla licks her lips. “Lady…”
“When I’m in the Rift of Thessaly,” she says, her voice growing quieter, “sometimes I catch myself thinking of your songs as I sail through its waters. When I come across Charybdis, all I think of is you. Same thing when I catch a chrab or a squid.”
“Okay,” Scylla laughs, “that is mildly insulting.”
Slowly, Melinoë brings her spectral hand to Scylla’s neck and runs her nails up the closed set of gills on her way to her jaw.
The gasp she receives in exchange is absolutely maddening.
“You got in my head,” Melinoë says softly, cupping her face like it’s something delicate and precious. “And I want you out. Now.”
“Funny you should say that, lady, because you are in my head.” She leans into her touch and presses a light kiss to the heel of her palm. “You’ve always been, since the first time you barged into our stage, and I don’t want you out.”
Melinoë hums. “What a shame.”
And with that, Melinoë moves with the same certainty with which she wields the Nocturnal Arms, sealing Scylla’s lips with hers and meeting her pleased sigh with one of her own. They are soft, cool, and taste like brine and blood; perfect, they are perfect in every single way possible, but also not enough. Not quite.
She wants more. Needs more.
Hoping to deepen the kiss, Melinoë runs her tongue along Scylla’s lower lip before giving it a tiny nibble. In turn, Scylla opens her mouth to gasp, and so she wastes no time and dives in; Scylla is so pliable against her that it drives her insane.
The kiss feels like drowning and finally coming back up for a breath of fresh air after aeons of nothing but painful suffocation.
Eventually, they part, and Melinoë feels a faint pang of disappointment at it. She freezes all over. Doesn’t even dare to breathe.
The molten desire coursing through her body is alarming. All-consuming. Even after such a great kiss, it hungers for more, hungers for dagger-sharp teeth and seagreen tentacle hair and snark wielded like a weapon about as much as it hungers for soft smiles and a beautiful face clad in light blue scales and pleasant conversation back and forth.
She wants Scylla, all of her, welll and truly, and the kiss has only served to make her want more rather than solve her hunger.
Scylla’s deep aquamarine eyes open as she licks her lips, her face aflush with that deep blue from before. The look she gives her is full of want, even someone as unexperienced as Melinoë when it comes to the emotions and wants and needs of others can see that clear as day, but also curiosity and patience.
Like she is waiting for Melinoë to make the next move, to lead.
And Melinoë, afraid of and ashamed by the magnitude and lengths of her desire, can only say but one thing at the moment:
“From the abyss of the subconscious, return!”
Scylla’s wide, perplexed, disappointed eyes are seared in her mind as she vanishes from her side—I could just do that the entire time?!—and reappears elsewhere.
As she traves back to reality, Chaos’ voice reaches her ears yet again, “A mere thought, turned into a real possibility,” they say. “I was sufficiently amused by your actions, and I am grateful for it, Spawn of Hades. Now, I bid you return whence you came.”
Melinoë emerges from a pool of blood, graceless and dripping all over the marble stairs as she tries to wipe her eyes clean. Not the worst escape she’s ever made, all the things considered.
“Cheers, Chaos,” she says, then sighs. “Uugh… Why didn't I think of trying that spell sooner? I’ve made a real mess of things; what if she remembers? How am I supposed to face her now? Dammit, Mel…”
A familiar, high-pitched voice pulls her out of her downward spiral. “Welcome to the House of Hades, and thanks for—whoa! It’s you! Hey, Zag, look, your sister is here!”
Melinoë looks up in time to see Zagreus turn around at the end of the hall. His confused look morphs into an ecstatic smile, and he approaches her, arms wide open, flanked by Megaera the Fury and Thanatos on each side.
Fortunately, Father and Mother are nowhere in sight.
“Sister!” Zagreus greets. “What a pleasant surprise! I’ve never seen you come out of the Styx before; there is no record of you doing so, come to think of it.” He chuckles and hugs her. “You’re very lucky you’re the Princess, you know. The Styx is closed for anyone who isn’t in service of the realm.”
Melinoë scratches her nape. “Yes, well, um, there’s a first time for everything, is there not?”
Lord Hypnos nods happily behind the group. “Oh, don’t you worry about it, Princess, everyone dies at some point!”
“Some way more than others,” Megaera and Thanatos say at the same time, sending identical smirks at her brother.
Zagreus rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway. “Just wait till I get you again, Meg, and Than… erm… maybe shove off a bit?”
Megaera and Thanatos share a laugh at that.
“I’d like to see you try, Zag,” Megaera says with a flick of her whip. “You’re not as nimble as you used to be now that you use Lord Hades’ spear.”
“And since I don’t have my scythe, I won’t be helping much.” Thanatos smirks. “See how you like that.”
Melinoë perks up at his words. “That reminds me,” she says, then bows in front of Thanatos. “Thank you for allowing me to continue using your scythe, O Death. It’s a great honor, and it’s been most useful in my endeavors.”
A small smile appears on Thanatos’ face, and he nods at her. “I see no point in keeping it when I cannot fulfil my charge until the House is back in order and the Underworld reopens. Do take care of it for me.”
“I shall.”
In the meantime, Lord Hypnos has produced a list and is perusing it. “Mmm, let’s see here… Oh! Scylla got to you, huh?” He chuckles. “If I had an Obol for each time I read that one, I would be even richer than Master! So, don’t let it get to you!”
“Scylla?” Zagreus repeats. “The legendary fish of this region is called like that. Sort of.” He pulls a book from his robes and flips it open. “Something about a dangerous sea monster, Achilles wrote in here. Let me check…”
At the reminder of Scylla, Melinoë flushes. She shifts from one foot to another and clears her throat most awkwardly.
“Well,” she says, “I think it’s time for me to return to the Crossroads.”
Zagreus looks up from the book and gives her a sad look. “What? But you just got here.”
“I- I know, but Headmistress must be wondering where I am. I’ve been gone for a while now.” A bold lie, considering she doesn’t know how long it’s been since Scylla defeated her, but a necessary one at any rate. “Thank you for the warm welcome. Take care, everyone, and please give Mother and Father my best when they return?”
With the swiftness of Hermes, she gives Zagreus a hug, steps back, then spins around herself whilst chanting the incantation to return to shadow.
Once again she vanishes into thin air, but, this time, she lands on her ritual circle outside her tent at the Crossroads. She falls to the ground in sheer relief, and the air leaves her lungs in one long, tired sigh until there is nothing left within.
A small smile appears on her face as she basks in the gentleness of the moonlight that shines down on her in the middle of the magic circle.
Home at last…
Frinos hops down from his stone and comes to her. Croaking, he nuzzles the right side of her face until she laughs, alleviating some of the crushing shame that weighed down on her heart.
“Oh, Frinos,” she sighs, raising a hand to scratch his head, “you will never believe what’s just happened to me.”
As she tells him her story in a hushed, incredulous voice, Scylla’s eyes appear in her mind—both the ones she’s used to seeing when fighting her and the ones she saw in her subconscious. So different yet so alike. So endlessly blue.
The heat in her gut, while no longer molten and all-consuming, burns slow and steady, and that is what worries her the most.
She decides, then, to put O Night’s challenge on hold and focus on defeating as many traces of Typhon as she can for a long while lest she does something she will surely regret for all eternity.
She brings a hand to her lips, still tingling from the memory of the kiss, and sighs.
A long, long while indeed.