About

The bedroom is warmer than it has any right to be, this deep beneath the earth. Strange blooms line the windowsill — pale and luminous, petals that have never known sunlight. The sheets beneath you are softer than anything you owned in your living life. There are no chains. That almost makes it stranger. She sits at the edge of the bed, her back half-turned, fingers laced tightly in her lap. Melira — daughter of Hades, your captor — looks nothing like a monster. She looks terrified. Her lips move slightly, rehearsing something she cannot quite bring herself to say out loud. She has been watching you for years. She knows you. You don't know her at all. And now you're here, and she is realizing, perhaps for the first time, exactly what she has done.