Ever with Hades
Patience was always the key, and now he was being rewarded.
Hades and Persephone
It was a special day on Mt. Olympus.
Hades, the Prince of Darkness, the God of the Underworld, second only to Zeus, was to have his wedding with Lady Persephone, daughter of Demeter. The world rejoiced, and the golden and bejeweled gates were thrown open so that the festivities could be seen by humans from their mortal dwellings.
It was a magical, magical night, with wine brewed by Dionysus himself was overflowing and the most delicious food was prepared by Demeter herself, as Goddess of the Hearth. There was also music and dancing like no other, with the Muses in attendance.
The gods and goddesses danced, sparkling in their ethereal forms. Their eyes glowed like the most precious gems, and their skins glistened like the softest and most expensive of silks. Their steps were light and nimble, and the way they moved yet again served inspiration for countless creations of art.
This was a day to be remembered in history, but the Three Crones of Fate spun their threads with a heavy heart. For they knew everything that had gone and what will be, and they did not relish what the future would hold.
The prophecy had been given.
But it had not been followed.
“Perhaps we are wrong,” Clotho murmured to her sisters as she weaved the threads of Hades and Persephone together, binding them in marital union. “We are ancient and immortal, but we are not all seeing and all knowing.”
Lachesis did not answer. The fate of the God of the Underworld and his bride did not fall under her realm of power for they were immortal like her. The length of their life threads was immeasurable.
Atropos reached for the interwoven threads and murmured uncertainly, “Maybe.” The threads did not feel they were bound tightly enough to each other, but maybe...that was just her imagination.
She ran her fingers over the threads one last time, and now she noticed something else.
The threads didn’t even feel good together, she realized in stunned silence. It was like mixing lace and leather, or like the brightest shade of orange with a royal shade of purple. Both beautiful on their own, but together—-
Clotho glanced sharply at her youngest sister, whose job was to cut the threads once it was time for their souls to meet its Maker. “What is it, Atropos?”
The youngest of the Crones shook her head. “It is nothing.” She drew her hand away. “In any case,” she murmured almost to herself, “it is not our place to interfere.”
If the prophecy were to be fulfilled, it would be, even without their intervention.
Chapter Two
Walking around town was one of her few and simple pleasures in life, and over the years Ever had learned to embrace it despite its imperfection. On her way to the library, she had to walk past several posh-looking art galleries and charmingly quaint cake shops, most of which were owned or managed by people she had once gone to school with.
Beth and Roger, once the school’s head cheerleader and team captain, were at their usual place, enjoying a cup of tea in front of their shop. They sent smiles of pity upon seeing Ever, and she pretended not to notice.
She could feel Beth’s gaze thoroughly studying her, no doubt taking note of the threadbare quality of the hem of her skirt and the way her blouse’s collar had started to fray and curl.
As Ever walked past the couple, she heard Beth whisper sadly to her husband, “I can’t imagine how it is to be like her.”
Ever tightened her grip on the handles of her bag. She’s not saying anything that’s not true, she reasoned to herself. No one would really ever be able to imagine the kind of life she led until they lived it themselves...and found out how painfully tedious it was.
She quickened her steps once she turned around the corner and was finally away from prying eyes. This was the problem of living in a small town, she thought with a sigh. Everyone knew what everyone’s business was, and if your business weren’t that, well, nice, then people would talk about it over and over.
It had come to a point that when something bad happened, one only needed to look at Ever Carlisle and realize that life wasn’t as bad as one thought.
At least you’re not like Ever Carlisle, who didn’t even get to finish high school.
At least you’re not like Ever Carlisle, whose aunt treats her more like an indentured servant than her own flesh and blood.
At least you’re not like Ever Carlisle, whose only source of entertainment came from library books – because she didn’t have enough money to even buy a used paperback.
Ever tried not to wince as she remembered all the things that had been said in her hearing, some unintentionally, but most others deliberately so, because it made them feel better about lives.