32 - Ariadne #2
Overwrought with a stifling wave of fury that shatters her to her core, she remains frozen in place.
She’s only ever felt such anguish one other time in her life and had not been able to control herself then.
She can take it no longer, cannot stand the sight of her love in another’s arms. She must go, or she might…
She conjures a portal and practically dives through the doorway, tripping over her feet before closing it behind her with finality.
Her breath comes in awful, heaving gasps.
If she’d eaten at all that day, surely, she’d have purged it all over her bedroom floor, covering the clusters of flowers that wilt beneath her feet.
Then she goes rigid in surprise as she regards her surroundings, momentarily disturbed. She hadn’t realized she’d meant to go here, had intended to go someplace far away, but her mind was all asunder, fractured by shock.
Aster, who had been sitting by the bed, jumps up and goes to her, sniffing at her hand, trying to determine what has harmed her. With shaking legs, she goes to her bed and slumps onto it, pressing a hand to her thrumming heart.
Iona swore. She’d sworn it was nothing more than shallow attraction, had looked Ariadne in the eyes as she said it, had made her feel foolish to even think it, had even jested about it, to make her feel wrong for even suggesting it.
She knew it was not only paranoia. She’d seen Iona’s appreciation for Rebekka’s beauty, her charm, her confidence.
Ariadne had known it, and yet still she was made blind by her infatuation, her lust, her delusional hopes.
Perhaps Iona had meant it then, but her mind had changed after all the awful things they’d said at Euphemia’s funeral, seeing what had happened to Vivien, and lying in that bed tormented by pain.
Iona did not even wait a day before seeking comfort in another’s arms. It seems she’s not just turning her back on Hecate.
Iona is leaving this entire life behind, leaving her behind, because she’s failed one too many times, and never deserved her to begin with.
Ariadne’s jaw clenches until the bone clicks painfully.
That is true no longer. Not after what she has done.
Iona knows well how this will break her, and yet she did it anyhow.
Ariadne must be rid of this bond immediately and not a moment too soon.
She blocks out every semblance, every trace of a feeling or thought stemming from Iona’s mind, finding them revolting.
Ariadne could never forgive this betrayal, not even for her. Especially for her.
She should have known love could never be so true. It never had been before. Everyone always hurts her in the end. She should have known better, but she never does. She always hopes, always risks her heart for it to be battered and bruised by those who claim to care for her.
Rebekka had sworn never to hurt her, but those were only pretty words to seduce her, to lure her into complacency. She never should have believed it. She is nothing more than a conquest, a hollow ornament, a warm body.
She recalls Morgan’s words at the end of the trials, telling them they would be the most powerful coupling in centuries, their bond unbreakable.
What a sickening joke. Morgan was just as wrong about that as she’d been when she allowed the pendant to go to Iona, or to Katrin for that matter.
Her supposed wisdom has been all but folly, and Ariadne was stupid enough to believe it.
She will never love again. Nor will she ever believe it when someone claims to love her.
How could they? How could anyone love her, in all her ugliness and inferiority?
Her infirmity runs through her very veins.
She will always be her mother’s unwanted daughter, her father’s regret, her family’s disappointment.
Her friends only pity her. Her lovers only ever want her for her beauty.
Morgan did not want her. Hecate resents her.
Everyone only tolerates her. She is nothing… nothing… nothing…
“Nothing like young love to set one’s heart aflame.”
Ariadne startles at the sound, her mouth falling open. Hecate stands in the corner of the bedroom admiring a trellis of pink rambling roses. Jumping to her feet, Ariadne performs something between a curtsy and a bow, unsure how best to address the Goddess.
Hecate’s responding chuckle is as endearing as it is patronizing. “You needn’t bow, child.”
Flushing with embarrassment, Ariadne straightens and lowers her head, picking at her nails in agitation. Then, when she remembers her sorrow, her reverence turns to hatred as she levels Hecate with an accusatory stare.
“You are the reason this happened in the first place,” Ariadne says bitterly. “We were happy before you imposed upon us and now…”
“I am the reason?” Hecate asks, her eyebrows raising in astonishment. “What a monstrous claim! That is not so at all.”
“Who then should I blame?” Ariadne asks.
“Perhaps the woman who ripped your heart open the moment loving you proved too difficult,” Hecate says. “Or the weaver who tied you to a woman destined to betray you.”
Ariadne’s breath stutters as she turns her back to her and blinks away tears, then gasps, unable to believe her eyes. There on the bedside table, next to her conjured heliotropes, sits the pendant, glittering in the candlelight.
“Ah, yes,” Hecate says. “Iona relinquished it.”
“What?” Ariadne gapes at her. “But… No, she would never-”
“Oh, but she did,” Hecate says with a sigh. “I imagine she no longer wishes to be burdened by it. It’s truly a shame… I’d hoped for another era of renewed peace. So many will suffer because of this, but I suppose there’s no helping that.”
“But… it should go to the next bearer,” Ariadne says, but Hecate shakes her head.
“So long as Iona is alive, it shall be fallow and squandered.”
“Well… Perhaps if you had not been so hard on her-”
“I gave her so many chances to prove her mettle,” Hecate says. “I’m afraid this is the end of my reliance on her. My coven will continue their work alone or risk the death toll rising beyond what we can stomach. In truth, it already has...”
With great regret, Ariadne gazes upon the shimmering opal. “Why did Arachne doom us to failure?”
“Only she would know.” Hecate’s brow furrows with frustration. “Sometimes I wonder… if she is not on our side after all.”
Ariadne takes slow steps towards the pendant, reaches out, but hesitates. Behind her, Hecate approaches, her proximity exuding an icy chill that makes Ariadne shiver.
“It seems you may have given your heart to the wrong person,” Hecate says. She gently pushes a lock of Ariadne’s hair over her shoulder. “Perhaps that applies to the pendant as well.”
Ariadne looks to her, losing herself in the depths of Hecate’s red eyes. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Hecate smiles as she cups Ariadne’s cheek. “Then take it back, my daughter. Claim what should have always been yours and take your rightful place at my side.”
Ariadne turns her gaze back to the pendant, marveling at its glittering stones so perfectly cut and overflowing with pure magic.
She sets her staff against the wall, and, with shaking hands, she takes the pendant, holds it delicately, her fingers trembling as she clasps it around her neck.
Power unlike anything she’s ever felt before surges through her in waves until she almost falls to her knees from the intensity of it.
When she looks to Hecate again, she stands beside an opened portal with her hand outstretched. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
Ariadne would have never believed such a promise if it hadn’t come from a Goddess’ lips, but indeed it has. She beckons Aster to follow, then takes Hecate’s hand and lets herself be guided through the portal to the Underworld.