Chapter 39
Eros
For two days, he had been by her side, never once leaving her.
He slowly guided the golden brush through the strands of her hair, gently placing it to rest upon her cold, stiff shoulder. He hated the contrast between her pale skin and her still, red hair.
“I am aware that I would have cared for you even in the absence of our bond. You might have been the person who afforded me the chance to learn how to love again, but I had failed you,” he articulated quietly, placing the brush beside the gleaming crystal platform where her body lay.
He felt the stiffness that had taken over her body as his thumb softly brushed her cheek, and then a hitched breath escaped his nostrils.
The weight of death began to alter her, but he still saw her as beautiful as ever.
He continued to gaze at her—as he had in the past days— maintaining the faint hope that she would awaken and tell him that it had all been nothing more than a terrible dream.
Yet, her lips didn’t move.
Her face remained still.
Her body showed no movement. There was only deathly stillness.
The last of her blood faded from his system, yet the magic of their bond remained, a living presence inside him.
The bond’s constant demand for Charisma’s blood caused him an agonizing open wound he couldn’t heal because she was no longer alive.
The gods involved in a bonding ritual suffered a distinct consequence when a bond was dissolved by something other than the magic that created it. And that was eternal pain.
That specific page, detailing this information, remained unseen by Charisma. No. He knew that if he had shown it to her, she would have forbidden him from proceeding. He knew, from all that he’d learned about her, that for her, her own well-being would never come at the expense of others.
“. . . Eros?”
Although he heard Artemis’s soft voice, he did not turn around to look at her, nor did he give her a response.
In the grips of his darkness, he was forced to remember the time his closest friend had intervened and stopped him from using the Oracle’s Stone.
He might have been able to find and rescue Charisma, but only if Artemis had not intervened.
The idea continued to pound and remained at the front of his mind.
“How are you feeling?” she began, her steps approaching him. “Athena and I spoke, and she believes she has a way to alleviate your pain.”
“I do not wish to alleviate my pain,” he cut it, his voice sharp.
“Eros. . .”
“Please refrain from speaking about me any longer. Should you wish to offer your last sentiments for Charisma, you are welcome to do so.”
Artemis drew nearer, her breathing becoming more measured with each step towards the stiffened body of Charisma. Eros noticed the almost inaudible gulp escape her throat, and saw her fingers begin to twist together, a tell-tale sign of her fear that he recognized instantly.
“What is it?”
The goddess cleared her throat. “She should have a proper funeral. It’s been two days.”
No—it is impossible for me to let her leave. I cannot accept that I will not see her again, he thought, the anger building up inside him, and making it impossible to utter the words out loud.
He made a conscious decision to stay silent as he was keen on protecting his friend from any potential harm. He was aware of how he had lost all self-control on the day his darkness had come back.
“Please let her body and soul finally be at peace,” she continued, and Eros sensed her hand getting closer to his back in an attempt to touch him.
As he listened to her words, he maintained his silence and slowly leaned forward, attempting to avoid her touch. Even though he could not bear to let go of his beloved Charisma, Artemis was right. Charisma deserved a burial. Still, he was unable to bring himself to accept it.
Until now, as the situation forced him to do it.
He leaned over her lifeless body, and the scent of death filled his nostrils as his lips met her forehead. The coldness of her skin sent a shiver through his body, and a final, broken whisper escaped his lips.
“Take her.”
And the last pieces of his soul broke once more.
Fourteen-thousand four-hundred seconds.
Two-hundred-forty minutes.
Four hours.
He measured the agonizing time in increments since Artemis had taken Charisma’s body, from the individual seconds to the mounting minutes, ultimately culminating in the accumulation of hours.
He had forgotten how much of his pain found solace in counting—but now that his shadows were back, he remembered.
The house seemed to resonate with the lingering memories of her laughter, as well as the playful responses she once gave him.
His lips almost curved into a faint smile as he thought back to all those moments.
Refusing to accept the reality of losing her, just like he had lost Psyche, was foolish of him, and he knew it.
And now, the final moments with Charisma were all that remained for him.
The powerful bond surged through him, bringing back a flood of memories that he found impossible to push away. He surrendered to the magic’s desires, a passive vessel for its will.
As if succumbing to the weight of his emotions, he allowed his body to sink into the sofa, and with every breath, he seemed to absorb another dose of the sorrow that permeated the atmosphere.
The desolate environment of his living room with its emptiness served as a painful reflection of his sorrow; even the soft furnishings brought to mind her death.
He could not perceive anything anymore. The sole thought lingering inside his head was ending his life. He could not go through this again.
Perhaps . . .
A loud sound echoed through the house as the door opened and in that instant, the thought had vanished from his mind.
With a deliberate movement of his head, he raised his eyes to the main hallway only to meet eyes with Artemis and Hades.
An undeniable look of worry was etched on the goddess’s face, but the god’s expression was composed and inscrutable.
Eros found himself clenching his jaw as he looked at them as they approached him.
Artemis sat down on the sofa and began, “You did the right thing, Eros.”
He nodded toward Artemis, not looking at her, as he instantly felt the anger stirring inside him.
Although he recognized the decision was best for Charisma, it did not sit well with him personally.
He was finally forced to accept that she was really gone, now that he couldn’t see her or feel her in any way.
An uncomfortable silence fell upon the three gods, and Hades felt compelled to clear his throat in an attempt to alleviate the tension in the air.
Completely detached from the world around him, Eros seemed to stare blankly ahead while Artemis focused her attention on him, hoping to figure out what thoughts were running through his mind.
However, they were all aware that with just a simple snap of his fingers, he possessed the ability to completely obliterate their entire world. As a matter of fact, the process of destruction had at that point already begun.
“Hades,” Eros said, his voice a low rumble. “Did you see her in the Underworld on the day she passed away?”
“I only caught a glimpse of a light passing,” he answered, making a brief pause as he eyed him with his pitch-black irises. “It was most likely her as she was a mortal blessed with divine abilities.”
Eros swallowed with difficulty, a knot forming in his throat, and as he processed Hades’ words, his gaze shifted, becoming darker in response.
“How are you dealing with—” Artemis began, but Eros had immediately cut her question.
“As previously mentioned to you, I wish to abstain from any discussions pertaining to myself,” he stated, rising from the sofa and walking away from them. “I am in a state of exhaustion, so regrettably, I have to ask you to leave the house.”
“Leave.”
With no further words spoken, the two gods turned to leave him, worry written across their faces as they kept their gaze fixed upon him with each step they took.
The air grew thick with dread as he remained there. Every shadow seemed to crawl closer, and every creak of the floorboards sent a fresh wave of terror. He was finally alone, a state he believed was his fate.