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The thing about her sudden affliction was that Melinoë knew it could not be a mere curse or spell gone wrong. In her studies, she had learnt of all manner of curses, hexes, baneful magicks known to both the Gods and Mortalkind alike.

Yet even with all of her expertise, the Goddess could find no trace of her ailment in any of their written histories.

It wasn’t even a particularly dangerous affliction or curse, more akin to a hangnail than a terrible plague. It was simply an oddity that Melinoë simply did not have time for. After all, her task sought the end of all Time himself.

She could not deliver Death to Chronos if she would be delayed by coughing up flowers of all things.

Melinoë had first noticed it on her first journey beyond Oceanus. She had faced a number of terrible foes, attempted to make it down past Erebus and Oceanus a great many nights that had led to her to an untimely demise.

Yet on her first night entering the Fields of Mourning, as she wandered into some stray miasma, Melinoë found herself suddenly choked up with emotion and unable to breathe, even as she tore herself away from its noxious clouds.

Her coughs and splutters wracked her entire frame, sending waves of sharp abrupt pain down her spine. Every breath was painful, every expulsion of air a renewed agony. And then, just as fast as it happened – it was over.

In the palm of her hand, a few odd mismatched flower petals – one long thin white, another an almost orange red, and the last a rich dark purple. In her addled haze, Melinoë struggled to identify the flowers on sight, so she quickly slipped them into the pocket of her chiton to investigate later.

At that time, the witch had thought perhaps she had merely inhaled them at some point, been careless in her approach. Yet by the third time it happened, she knew she could not chalk it up to mere coincidence. Something was deeply wrong.

Hecate would have ordinarily been her first choice of consultant for any manner of magic that she did not understand, but something akin to guilt or unnerve twisted at her gut, and thus Melinoë did not approach her Headmistress first.

The first person she told, ironically enough, was Nemesis. Retribution had narrowed her eyes at the Witch in suspicion, as if anticipating some kind of a joke or attempt at misdirection.

When Melinoë offered no such mockery, the hostility settled into something like fond concern laced with gentle disbelief and suspicion as the daughter of Hades held out the (now cleaned) petals for Nemesis to observe and offer her own theories.

“That long one is a white asphodel,” Nemesis noted with a grumble. “The stuff used to be everywhere in that part of the Underworld before the River Phlegethon overflowed; it was practically a weed.”

“And the other is a Pomegranate flower. The last is something I’ve had no luck identifying, no flower in any text on reagents resembles what I’ve been coughing up,” Melinoë agreed with a pensive look. “If I knew more about all the components, I might yet understand and research what’s happening to me.”

“You’re coughing up flowers,” Nemesis deadpanned. “What is there to research besides ‘don’t eat flowers?’”

“Very funny, Nem,” Melinoë grumbled lightly. “Look, I’m just looking for some advice in all this. If I’ve been cursed, I figured you would know of who would think me worthy of their retribution.”

“It’s not anything I can figure out,” the armoured goddess shrugged, rolling her pauldron laden shoulders back. “And apart from being a little too convinced of yourself, there’s nothing that you’ve done which I can see you earning a curse from someone. Let alone someone powerful enough to curse a God.”

“Well, great,” Melinoë sighed deeply. “If not a curse, then a mishap, or some tiding of misfortune. I’ll see what Moros thinks.”

Unfortunately, Moros too appeared to have no idea as to the origins of her affliction – even when Melinoë pressed him for whether the Fates themselves had preordained her condition, he revealed no such answers.

“I am sorry, Princess,” he replied with his typical gentle yet mournful tone. “This falls outside of the realm of my expertise. Even if the Fates intended you to endure this illness in any capacity which I was privy to, I would not be able to share that knowledge with you.”

“Is there truly nothing you can tell me?” she implored, her face falling into a resolute near-pout. “Given your expertise over doom itself, I thought perhaps you might at least help me discern if this unusual source of frustration will interfere with my task.”

Moros’ eyes softened, as he gazed upon her with sudden undeniable fondness. “I… to the best of my deductive ability, I do not think this will overcome you. Though we have not known each other long, you strike me as incredibly resilient.”

For the briefest of moments, Melinoë’s chest felt open again, like every breath was no longer in and of itself a Heraclean task. With a stomach full of butterflies and a sudden girlish giddiness that felt unbecoming of an Agent of the Unseen, the goddess gave a sharp curtsy of gratitude.

“I—Thank you, Lord Moros,” she murmured with sudden bashfulness, just before her throat began to constrict once more. “That at least is a relief to hear.”

With both the advice Moros and Nemesis under her belt, Melinoë continued on her way through the Underworld in an attempt to fulfill her task. Chronos couldn’t wait for her to figure out what this bizarre cough she was dealing with was, after all.

As she battled through the many bestial Shades and hidden glades of Erebus, Melinoë knew that she was lagging behind where she had been in her previous attempts. Every limb felt heavier, every breath laborious and painful.

She could have blamed her sudden lag on the weight of Zorophet, a heavyweight full-person sized axe unlike her much preferred lighter arms of Lim and Oros and Descura. Yet she knew in her heart that that could not be the reason.

“You are in a remarkably ill-state, Melinoë,” Hecate observed coolly, her ever keen eyes perceiving the one thing that the daughter of Hades had hoped to keep hidden from her Headmistress. “Encountered some trouble out there this eve, I take it?”

“…some, Headmistress,” Melinoë admitted with a rough gulp and a salute. “None that I could not handle.”

A bold-faced lie would have been more damning than a half-truth, even if neither would escape the Titaness’ notice. Hecate appeared to consider calling her pupil out on the deception before seemingly thinking better of it.

“Let us see then that you are up to the task, Melinoë,” she declared, in a tone so casual nothing appeared to be amiss. “For if you cannot surpass me, you will have no hope up ahead.”

Melinoë could have sworn Hecate fought with an even greater ferocity than usual. Her sudden renewed vigour and interest in bringing her own student to heel was one that caught the daughter of Hades off-guard.

Ultimately, the Witch of the Crossroads fell before the might of the axe-wielding Goddess, though not without leaving her in a far more fragile state than she had been in several nights.

She perished to Scylla and her wretched sirens, not long after, their song following her back to the Crossroads in a particularly mocking earworm.

**

Somewhere along the line, Melinoë had decided not to say a word to anyone else about the true nature of her condition. It had not been a particular conscious decision, or one she made after much consideration.

Merely, after a chance encounter with Hermes, it seemed like the only possible decision.

“Hey, M, great to see you – listen, I really hate to do this, especially when you seem to be making good progress down there with Old Chronos, but we could really use your help up on Olympus,” Hermes had rambled in his signature hurried tone.

Olympus? But the curse in her blood… she would be forbidden from the Surface, Hecate had warned her of the Fates’ design from the time she was little of what would occur. Yet if Hermes had come all this way just to implore her help… well, who was she to refuse?

It would require circumventing Hecate’s wards at the Surface entrance. Then, likely, she would need a method of undoing the Fates’ curse on her blood. In all likelihood, such was a task she would find less trouble with if not for her persistent sickness.

She needed Moly, Cinder, and Shadow for the wards, at a guess. Though the unravelling of a Blood Curse… any incantation meant for dealing with that eluded her entirely.

“You doing alright, sunshine?” Apollo questioned, his concern-laden tone and expression evident even as they were connected through boon alone. “I have to admit, you look as though you’ve seen better days.”

“It’s nothing to worry about, just a small cough,” Melinoë assured with a somewhat breathless and unsteady wheeze. “It’s been grating at me recently, I’ll admit. But it is no reason to delay my task.”

Apollo narrowed his eyes and hummed in suspicion. “You know I’m also considered the God of Plague and Disease, right Cousin? You can’t hide a poor condition like that from me, you know. If you’re truly as unwell as it looks, then for all our sakes you should rest.”

She took the boon in hand and let its power wash over her, just as Apollo finished his prompt lecture. Realistically, she understood that she was getting worse. If she were still in training, she would have already asked Hecate for a break to try and recover.

Yet she found herself inexplicably called both to the Underworld and Olympus, tasked with dealing with Chronos both above and below. Melinoë could not afford to stop, much less falter.

No matter how much these flowers ailed her, they would only increase her determination to keep fighting.

That said, Apollo and Hecate weren’t the only people to notice. Scylla and her Sirens made some snide remark when she confronted them at the edge of Oceanus, Echo did her best to express her concerns for Melinoë’s wellbeing in her own way, and even Narcissus offered a hint of interest as to her poor state.

It was clear that it wasn’t going away on its own.

**

The final moment that made it clear Melinoë was in far more deep than she even knew was when she first made it to the edge of the Mourning Fields. After fighting her way through hoards of shades and daemons, the Goddess had finally found her path down to Tartarus.

All that stood between her and the final part of her task was but one Chamber. She expected a fight, certainly. Though she did not anticipate the miasma-covered monster that emerged and threw itself at her in a fierce rage.

“…three heads? You’re Cerberus,” she realised suddenly, as she narrowly avoided a flaming paw that swung at her with malicious intent. “Heel boy! No, stay! Bad dog!”

No matter what she said, he simply refused to acknowledge her commands. He was simply too covered in miasma to hear her, she reasoned. These damnable shades were so concerned with their own self-inflicted torment to leave a poor dog alone.

Even so, her heart suddenly ached with a great weight that left her shaken. A grief that left her hollow and vulnerable washed over her, without the influence of the miasma clouds. This was her family’s loyal hound.

She should have grown up with him as her beloved pet. She should have been recognised as his family, he should have bounded up to her seeking affection or love. He should have seen her and known she was no mere intruder, but family.

It was yet another thing that Chronos had taken from her. Another part of her youth and childhood she had been denied.

“Damn you, Chronos,” Melinoë cursed under her breath, as a mixture of nausea and sorrow filled her entire frame, followed by desperate spluttering coughs that left her staggering in every step.

And that delay proved to be her undoing. One of Cerberus’ great and terrible maws caught her in-betwixt its razor sharp teeth, piercing through her skin with a sickening crunch. She shrieked and called out the incantation with far more desperation and fear than she ever had before.

“Return to Shadow, now!”

Darkness enveloped her from head to toe, embracing her wholly in its arms and retrieving her from danger.

Melinoë found herself returned to her tent, torn from the jaws of danger by the incantation she’d memorised to bring her back to the cover of darkness. Every nerve ending sang in protest, as not-quite pain settled in every inch of her skin from avoiding a quick and ghastly end at the hands of her family dog.

She had almost been too late. If she had died there – truly actually died, not just been at the verge of it – then the Styx would have claimed her for its own. And then all would have been lost.

Once, many moons ago, when Melinoë had been but a curious child with nothing but wistful dreams and a heart full of vengeance not fully her own – she had asked after her brother Zagreus. What kind of person he was, the things he could do.

Hecate had spoken only of the tales she’d heard peripherally, not being particularly close to the boy himself. How he had fought through the Underworld, how he had an uncanny ability to bring people together, and how he could even defy death itself.

Melinoë, too, possessed such a power. To an extent. Unlike the days of her brother Zagreus, she did not have ease of access to the River Styx. If she were to truly die – the way he often did outside of the House of Hades – she would be utterly doomed.

For her death would deliver her straight to the hands of Chronos at her absolute weakest, and she would have no hope of opposing him. Their only chance would be squandered and Chronos would have won.

Her ailment was getting worse. It was no longer a matter of personal failing she had to simply do away with, but one that would affect her ability to complete her task.

Wracked by the return of her floral-induced coughs, Melinoë spat up her usual assortment of flowers, now with the addition of a sudden new variety - pale pink petals with bright yellow stems. At the sight of the wretched botanicals, she swore that her chest grew even tighter.

The Goddess barely made it more than a few steps into the plush rug-laden confines of her tent before she collapsed with exhaustion, utterly bone-deep and consuming. Melinoë trembled with effort as she rolled onto her back.

A weary groan left her lips from the exertion of every breath. The aches were simply too much to bear. Tears down her cheeks unbidden, unaccompanied by the sobs one might expect. Instead, pure exasperation and unmitigable defeat was what consumed the witchling that night.

Luckily, she did not suffer her poor state in solitude for long.

“Uhhh, Mel?” Dora, her listless Shade companion, called out from above her. “You good down there? It’s just you’re not usually the type to curl up on the floor like that, not that I’m complaining, I love a good lay-about-and-do-nothing kinda day too.”

Melinoë merely groaned in response and waved a weak hand dismissively. Pain and light pulsed behind her eyes, like the warning of an imminent migraine. Her stomach churned with nausea, threateningly.

The shade floated down in concern, and placed herself atop one of the many pillows strewn about with a soundless plop. “Oooohhh-kay, you really don’t look good at all. I’m not sure I should be the one to deal with this, I’m gonna go get someone.”

“Dora, wait—” she called out uselessly, just after the shade had already disappeared into a puff of smoke. “Damn it.”

A number of unknowable minutes passed by with Hades’ Daughter collapsed upon her floor in a glorious heap, suffering in agony in only her own company. She felt as though she was floating in-between life and death itself, neither mortal nor goddess, nor shade nor living being. She had been merely reduced to a pile of writhing viscera and mulch upon the dirt of the wretched roads.

“Pardon the intrusion, Goddess,” an achingly familiar voice called from the entryway.

“Odysseus,” Melinoë gasped weakly, as she summoned the very last of her strength to roll limply onto her side to address him. The action sent entire shockwaves of pain up and down her spine, causing more desperate splutters and wheezes to seize the weakened goddess all at once.

“No need to get up on my account, Melinoë,” he assured, as he sidled on over to her side and knelt at her feet with an apologetic grimace. “Especially if you feel half as bad as you look.”

“Is it truly that bad?” she wheezed pathetically. The tactician nodded sadly. “I’ve seen men plagued at war look in better shape than you presently do, Goddess. I had hoped Dora had overstated the severity, but…”

He grimaced as a new wave of horrific wheezes and coughs took hold of her, making her thrash about with each wet hack. With a squish and splat, more petals fell into the palm of her hand as though she had expelled the contents of her stomach rather than her lungs.

“Gods, I’m sorry, you… you shouldn’t have to see me like this,” Melinoë dithered, stricken with shame as fervent as her sudden fever.

“There’s no need to apologise,” he assured her, gently brushing aside loose strands of her hair that had fallen across her face. “Nor should you be embarrassed. Everyone gets sick. Even the Gods, I assume.”

“We’re not supposed to,” she moaned weakly, as he pressed a cool palm to her forehead, as if to check her temperature. “I’m just glad it’s you here and not Headmistress, Odysseus. I don’t think I could bear her seeing me like this.”

“Unfortunately, I believe its best that Hecate be informed upon her returned to the Crossroads,” Odysseus decided with a semi-apologetic shrug. “Were it within my power to do away with whatever troubles you now, I would spare you her ire, but as luck would have it – I do not think I am equipped for healing you of this.”

Melinoë groaned, covering up her eyes with one of her arms as she rolled onto her stomach in an attempt to shield herself from reality. Her entire body felt hot and swollen, both from embarrassment and sheer pain. Quietly, she yearned for the earth to open up and swallow her whole – at least to ease her suffering for just a few minutes.

With what little energy she had remaining, she turned her head to the side and her eyes flickered up towards the unfinished painting across from her.

There was such gentleness present in the eyes of each person there. Her mother, Queen Persephone, kept her cradled at her chest. Her brother, Prince Zagreus, his expression filled with something like playful pride. And her father, King Hades, imposing in stature and yet embracing them all as their fierce protector.

At the centre of it was Melinoë herself, just an infant, swaddled in fine silk with her wide eyes staring up in admiration of a brand new world.

Her beloved family. Their hearts so full of love, even then. If they looked upon her now, curled up on the ground in a wretched heap, would they even know her as their own? Would they even begin to love her as she was now?

Could they love her – a total stranger – as she loved them?

Suddenly, as the thought crossed her mind, a sharp pain struck her to the very core. As though her entire body had seized up, as her breath escaped her, Melinoë suddenly felt as if very grasp on life was fading from her.

She hacked, wheezed, gasped, begged for air, as every morsel of hurried breath rushed in to alleviate the lava-hot pain of her butchered lungs. The agony was white-hot, even more so than when she had ventured onto the surface for the first time – still bound to the Fates’ curse.

If the Goddess could’ve screamed, she would have. Yet with no breath, all she could was silently suffocate as her body tried to expel whatever thorn or vine had seen fit to make its home amongst her flesh.

Then, in a moment of sudden gut-wrenching relief, it came free with a violent gag and sickening splatter.

In the palm of her hand, those same varietal of flowers had returned, but what was most horrifying was the inky black of viscous blood that now coated each petal with her very life essence.

With sudden horror, Melinoë reared up and back as though the very sight of it had burned her. She had seen herself bleed many hundreds of times, in quantities far more terrifying than what she had spat up, and yet the pitiful amount made her insides crawl with fear.

How could she have allowed herself to get this bad? How had she not noticed how it had progressed to such a near lethal point? Styx take her, she should not have dismissed it out of hand. There were flowers growing in her heart and lungs…

Of all the costly mistakes she had made, this had to be her most egregious.

“Oh, Melinoë,” Odysseus commiserated, reminding her of his presence, as he tucked her against his chest protectively. His touch, though not unwelcome, made her wince reflexively.

“Please, Od,” she pleaded, in a soft and meek voice that made her feel akin to a child once more. “I can’t…”

She didn’t even know what she was asking for. His departure, his comfort… she just wanted something in a way she hadn’t ever wanted before. A deep sense of hopeless yearning filled the void left behind by her near death experience.

“I know,” he shushed her gently. “I know. I have you. I’m not going anywhere, Goddess.”

Melinoë had never sought out comfort from him like this before. He was not her father, much less anyone she viewed in a similar light, he was their tactician – their war strategist. And yet the way she melted into his arms felt so natural, that when sleep suddenly called her to its side – she could not hold her eyes open any longer.

She slipped into unconsciousness, granting her a brief reprieve from the worst pain she had ever experienced in her life.

**

When Melinoë next awoke, she was no longer pressed up against the chest of Odysseus, but instead gently tucked underneath one of her blankets from her youth.

Knelt by her side, in a surprising display of apparent tenderness, was none other than Headmistress Hecate - with her familiars Hecuba and Gale standing watch. The hound and polecat each respectively barked and yipped for the Titan Witch’s attention, signalling her to Melinoë’s wakefulness.

“Ah, good,” she remarked, as she reached behind her back. “I made use of some of the, ahem, discarded petals you left to assess your condition. I believe I have found a means of slowing this sickness’ growth within you,” Hecate informed her coolly, with a look simultaneously caring and firm.

She handed Melinoë what appeared to be a bottle of nectar, though its rich amber had become a much deeper purple that seemed to sparkle in the light of the stars around them.

“I diluted the solution in Nectar to hopefully aid in the ease of imbibing the concoction,” the Witch explained with a clear of her throat. “I’ve no doubt it will be effective. I make no promises as to the taste, however.”

“…thank you, Headmistress,” Melinoë murmured shyly, taking the medicine-laden nectar in hand. “I hope brewing this for me didn’t delay any other important work.”

“None that is more important than your wellbeing, Melinoë,” the Witch of the Crossroads insisted with a shake of her head. “Now, best not delay in getting that down. The sooner you rest, the sooner our enemies may remember your sting.”

Silently, Melinoë made quick work of the Nectar – an astringent mix of sweet and smooth nectar accompanied with bitter medicine. Hecate lingered, her eyes full of emotion, yet with none of the frustration or rage that the witchling had been expecting to see.

“…I was expecting you to be more angry with me,” Melinoë admitted sheepishly.

Hecate sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world itself had been given to her instead of Atlas. “Would you prefer that I scold you until the mighty dawn smiles upon us, rather than offer you solutions to your deadly condition?”

“No! I just…” Melinoë winced guiltily, looking down at the empty nectar bottle in hand with a sudden numbness. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was certain that I could handle this on my own, and when it became apparent that I couldn’t, it was almost too late…”

The titaness got a sudden melancholy look in her eye. “I am not thrilled you kept this from me,” she agreed with a stern nod. “And while I applaud your confidence, I do not imagine that even you have the power to circumvent the very essences of Chaos Themselves.”

“Chaos?” Melinoë questioned, blurting her curiosity out of turn. “You mean…”

“T’was their workings, I am sure of it,” Hecate insisted with a sigh. “Though I have never known them to be a spiteful creature, so I cannot imagine this to be an intentional curse. Perhaps an act of curiosity gone too far.”

It made sense, of course. In the times she had run into Chaos whilst out on assignment, their interventions and boons were always given for the sake of satisfying their own interest, rather than any particular fealty to their cause.

Nonetheless, Melinoë did not think that their curiosity would have resulted in this.

“They would never do things like that without asking, though,” Melinoë noted, recalling on her previous experiences. “in all the times we’ve met, they outline exactly what their blessing will give me and what drawbacks it comes with. They’re not one for deceit.”

“Indeed,” Hecate agreed plainly. “Perhaps next you meet, ask them about it. See if you can determine its origins. Better yet, any solution. Once I am certain you have rested, and my tonics have fully prevented the spread, we shall not delay any longer.”

**

The thing about Melinoë was that she was relentless. Even with the flowers that had all but replaced her lungs, the vines that had filled her veins, and the petals that became her very blood – she was determined to make it to Chronos.

She was going to kill him. If she could do so once, then it would prove her task possible. All her training, all the efforts of the Unseen – no mere flowers would stand between her and her destiny.

Many nights passed, where she was confined to the Crossroads against her will, until Hecate determined her condition was stable enough to allow her to try to complete her task again.

She had lost some of her rhythm. The Surface and Underworld foes she faced seemed just as strong as the first time she had ever fought them, like almost all her progress had been undone.

And yet, in a fashion most abrupt and surprising, the Princess of the Dead found her second wind. She did not let it defeat her, as she was determined to win back every bit of ground she had previously covered.

Lo and behold, on one of any number of countless nights, she made it through the wretches of Tartarus and to the doorway into the House of Hades. Her heart felt lighter than it had in ages. Her spirit full of life, her body alight with anticipation and energy.

Melinoë barely acknowledged the disgust in the back of her mind for what had been done to her father’s house. She was far too eager to finally confront the man face-to-face for the first time.

Though the front door itself denied her, a quick dive into the sands that had filled the Styx brought her exactly where she needed to be. Within the halls of the House of Hades itself, Chronos – the Titan of Time, her Grandfather, and greatest enemy – sat on a gilded throne and met her eyes with a cold metallic gaze.

“Let yourself in, I see,” he sneered in a low and dangerous tone. “Through the gutter? This family never had any class! Though, I am working on alleviating that within this House, if you would pardon all the dust. We have been renovating around here.”

The eagerness Melinoë felt before melted away in an instant, leaving nothing but pure blooded hatred in its place. “Get up,” she snarled furiously. “You get up off that stolen throne! You know who I am, and you know why I’m here.”

He cocked his head in mock disapproval. “Have I not made clear to you that your attempt to do me harm shall be in vain? I am a deathless Titan. You are merely a poor, misguided girl.”

“Hear me, you enemy of Night and Darkness, now—” Melinoë recited, pouring every bit of emotion and intention behind her spell, one she had spent all her years memorising. “—for your transgressions, you shall imminently die. Under chthonic doctrine, this I vow! For there is no escape from Fate beneath the sky.”

As her curse manifested and struck Chronos, he chortled in faux-scandal, his laughter ending in a crescendo of coughs that he covered with a fist. “Manners! Cursing is forbidden in this House. By that token, fighting is forbidden as well. But for you, my girl? We shall have to make an exception. Time for you to go.”

Chronos finally rose to his full height, well-over double Melinoë’s own, and he dismissed the throne behind him with a wave. In that same motion, a grand and sweeping scythe taller than even him appeared in his hand.

He was the most powerful enemy she would ever face, the very same she had been training all her life to defeat. With Lim and Oros, she would bring the wretch to heel, no matter how many times it took.

After all, they both had all the Time in the world.

Chronos did not die the first time they met. Nor the second. Nor the third. By the fourth and fifth time they met, she had begun to memorise his patterns, identified his most dangerous moves.

Melinoë stopped keeping track of how many nights she failed. Instead, she began to keep notes on where she had small successes each night – getting him out of the House of Hades, making him summon more forces, take more drastic measures to oppose her.

Until, at long last, she finally brought him down. Truly down.

He fell to his knees before her with a gasp and a wheeze, looking more frail than she had ever seen him before. Chronos spluttered fitfully, as he hacked out his utter horror at being brought to heel. “I thought… none could resist the ravages of Time… but, you? How…?”

With disdain in her eyes, Melinoë replied coldly, “You’ll get no answers from me, and no mercy, either. Now die already, and I’ll collect the ichor from your veins – or whatever flows through them.”

“Hah!” Chronos guffawed, breathlessly. “What is death to the deathless? A mere nuisance! This house is mine. Once I am gone… you shall be cast out.”

“I expect so,” Melinoë agreed without fear. “And you’ll be re-made and back on the throne before I can return. But I shall return. And I’ll slay you, again, and again, and again, if I must.”

“Even if, in so doing, it meant that you would never see your dear old family again?” he threatened with a hiss. “Because the mercy I have shown to them thus far is something I may have to re-evaluate.”

The threat had a sudden weight behind it that made her chest ache, as she thought back to that damned unfinished painting sat in her tent. Yet she did not show even an ounce of that fear or longing before Chronos. She could not. Not even for a moment.

With no emotion in her tone, Melinoë shrugged nonchalantly. “You would do that to our family? But what do I care? I don’t even know them. But I do know you ought to be dead here any moment now. Any last words, Grandfather?”

His lips fell apart, as if to respond with yet another appropriate barb, when suddenly he choked on his own words and began to violently splutter into his hands. Without any time for a witty reply, Chronos faded away into dust, leaving nearly no trace that he had ever been there.

A glowing orb of his essence, that would soon rematerialize, as if nothing had happened. A bottle of glowing yellow sand, the substance that filled his heart instead of ichor that flowed through most divine beings’ veins.

And perhaps most unusually, flowers. Flowers… An assortment of so many different colour petals, among the many grains of sand he had left behind when he dematerialised. Dread shot Melinoë through like a bolt of lightning.

The scene had been too familiar. Him coughing up his guts and lungs, full of petals and thorns just as she herself had. The two of them – Grandfather and Granddaughter, Chronos and Melinoë – united not just in blood and hatred, but curses.

She couldn’t afford to linger on such a piece of information, at least not there, in the ruins of her father’s house. She had a job to do there, and only so much time to do it.

As she retrieved the spoils of her victory, Melinoë steadied herself for the path before her. She ran to the east hall of the House and into what remained of her brother’s bedroom. It had been left in utter disarray, no doubt as a result of Chronos’ violent takeover.

All save for the Mirror of Night. It was indestructible, endlessly powerful. And it was going to be the key to fixing this damned mess. Melinoë made herself comfortable in Zagreus’ bed and recited another incantation. “To the abyss of the subconscious, I descend!” she declared.

In an instant, her conscious mind was pulled from her body, almost like she herself were a mortal shade. She approached the mirror, and began to unseal it. “Night and darkness, guide me to my blood beyond the grasp of Time!”

Melinoë traversed the darkness and mists beyond the grasp of reality itself, until she was able to reach her destination. The Mirror of Night, back in a time where she had not yet been born and Chronos had not yet returned.

On the other side was her brother, Zagreus. Just the same as he looked in that portrait. Dark hair, odd-eyes, shining laurels, and a pauldron made from three dog-skulls. Her heart began to race with anticipation. This was it.

His face scrunched up in confusion, as she approached the mirror and took the place of his reflection.

Zagreus remarked with a grunt, “Erm… is my hair getting lighter and my features getting fairer, or did I consume something that really isn’t sitting well…?”

“Prince Zagreus,” Melinoë implored, as collected as she could manage. “Please, listen to my voice! Can you hear me? Can you hear me?”

He scrunched up his nose in further confusion. “Definitely something I consumed, then. Or… wait, oh, this is just a dream! Another one of Hypnos’ ideas he’s testing out, I suppose. Is that you in there, mate?”

How on earth Zagreus could ever mistake her for Hypnos was beyond her. Their domains and appearances were nothing alike. She mentally cursed his aloof attitude, and tried to press upon him the gravity of the situation.

“No, I… look, yes, technically this is a dream. But it’s the only way I could reach you across the span of Time! Now, please, our family is in danger, and I need your aid!” she insisted fervently.

“Alright, alright, slow down!” he replied with a furrowed brow. “What do you mean our family? Who are you? One of mother’s many cousins? Or… wait, your eyes… and that sigil—”

Melinoë sighed tersely, before softening slightly as she formally introduced herself. “Please, let me speak! This may be difficult to accept, but I am your sister, Melinoë. And I’ve come here from a near future seeking your aid, Zagreus.”

“Melinoë, my…sister? Right… from a future time, did you say?” Zagreus hummed sceptically, narrowing his eyes in playful suspicion. “And you want my aid with, what, exactly?”

“I want you to find our Grandfather, Chronos, in the depths of Tartarus, and destroy him,” Melinoë declared with no room for argument. “There is only so much I can do here. He has already taken over the entire House of Hades, imprisoned everybody – including our family, our mother and father! And now, he marches on Olympus, seeking vengeance.”

Zagreus laughed, though not out of amusement, just sheer discomfort. “You mean the former Titan King of the Heavens that got torn to shreds by the Gods? That Chronos? Sorry, ‘sister,’ I just… I’m having a hard time believing any of this. Especially given that this is a dream, and such things are often figments of my imagination.”

She had planned out speeches before. Written down drafts of what she would tell Zagreus when first they met, all with the hope of convincing him to perfectly go along with their plans to rescue their family and end their tyrant grandfather’s reign.

And yet all of that fell to the wayside as Melinoë spat venomously, “I am real, Zagreus! This is real! All of this is because Chronos took you from me, took our family from me! From us! You don’t understand how long I’ve worked just to make it here to see you—"

She doubled over with a gasp, suddenly breathless and choking on a surge of thorns that shot up through her oesophagus. The taste of blood and bile surged to her tongue, making her gag violently.

Even in a realm of total darkness and dream, her body was still affected by her curse, and that left a mark on her soul. Melinoë stuck her fingers into the back of her throat and tugged violently, even as the thorns pierced her skin. She gagged and winced, trying to ignore the churning of her stomach in favour of freeing herself.

The thick stem gave way and fell into her hand with a grotesque squelch, bringing with it a disgusting cocktail of spit, blood, and mushed up flower petals.

Ashamed and frustrated, only after discarding the damnable plant to one side did she bring herself back up to meet her brother’s eye. She was now covered in her own ichor, as red as any mortal’s blood.

“Damn these flowers…” she muttered in a hushed whimper, as her anger suddenly dissipated into despair.

“Wait, what did you say?” Zagreus suddenly perked up, his eyes full of stark concern. He placed his hand up against the cool glass of the mirror, as if to try and reach for his sister. “You’re coughing up flowers?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Melinoë rushed to reassure, in between her wheezing gasps for air. “A somewhat inconvenient affliction, I’ve got it under control. I just… I just need your help, okay? For our family. Can I count on that, Zagreus?”

Despite her pleas, Zagreus ignored them in favour of offering up his own insistences. “Sister. Melinoë, whoever you are – if you really are coughing up flowers, then you may not have as much time as you think. This doesn’t just go away on its own, it’s not something you can wish away. You need to—”

The sound of a bell ringing made Melinoë’s heart drop. Chronos was back, he would find them there any second if she delayed much longer.  “I can’t stay, I’m sorry, Zagreus. Please, just think on what I’ve said! Seek out our mother’s handmaiden, Hecate, and tell nobody else we’ve met!”

With a wave of her hands and a weak cry of the oh-so-familiar incantation, Melinoë returned to the Crossroads just as the new Master of the House had recovered from his temporary end.

Her chest was even tighter than normal, more than even when a damned root had torn through her throat. Every breath came out a pained wheeze, and still the insistent pressing on her windpipe implored her to cough for any semblance of air remained.

With each hack, more blood and spit-soaked petals propelled out and into her fist, those same damnable white, red, and purple flowers that she’d grown to dread the very sight of.

Still, with the last of her strength, Melinoë stumbled out into the main area of the Crossroads and met Hecate’s eye with a surge of determination. “What news?” she prompted, as though she already knew.

“I did it, Headmistress,” Melinoë declared weakly, bracing on a nearby branch for support. “In the House of Hades, I slew Chronos, if but for a moment. And that moment was long enough for me to make my way to the mirror. I found Zagreus.”

“And? Does he understand his role in all this?” Hecate implored with a slight edge to her words.

“He… was not the most cooperative,” Melinoë admitted with a sigh. “I did my best to press upon him the importance of what’s to come but he scarcely believed I was real, let alone the danger Chronos presents to our family.”

“As I feared,” Hecate grimaced silently. “Well, then, it appears our only course is to continue to press him until he fully understands the gravity of what he must do. We did not think it would be a matter of simply killing the Titan once, after all.”

“Of course not, Headmistress,” Melinoë agreed with a curt nod. “I imagine any spell to undo him would require more than this one bottle of his sands.”

She retrieved the bottle from her pouch and handed it for Hecate to appraise. The witch hummed. “I suspect so. Still. This was no small victory, Melinoë. Especially with that wretched flower curse that plagues you.”

“That reminds me,” Melinoë jerked up suddenly, reaching for her satchel and retrieving the flowers that Chronos had left in his wake upon his defeat. “It seems like I’m not the only one suffering this damned thing. Chronos left these behind when he fell, I’m almost certain he coughed them up himself.”

Hecate paused, and took the flowers in hand as well, to carefully consider them as well. “Tis a troublesome thought… that you and Chronos would share more than just blood. A shared curse of flowers in the chest and lungs,” Hecate drawled contemplatively.

“…it seemed like Zagreus knew something about it,” Melinoë informed her, weakly. “When I mentioned my own flowers offhandedly, he got really concerned, when just moments before he couldn’t have been more dismissive of what I was telling him.”

“Intriguing,” the Witch of the Crossroads hummed in thought. “That he would have such knowledge of this curse, when it is unfamiliar to either you or I… If you have the time to ask him about again, then do. But the task remains a priority.”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

**

Melinoë had once again made it past Cerberus in the Mourning Fields and into the depths of Tartarus. Despite the wretches’ best attempts to stop her, and her flowers’ best attempts to choke her out, she had covered more ground in a single evening than she had in just as many weeks or months.

That particular night would end up being far more significant than she could have ever anticipated. As the Goddess made her way through yet another of Tartarus’ endless twisting Chambers, the appearance of a familiar three-headed figure made her pause.

Cerberus sat at attention, aside a hulking great prisoner in manacles at his wrists and ankles bearing the symbol of Chronos, clothed in burlap rags. He was a towering and imposing figure, even whilst hunched in on himself.

And his eyes, even concealed in the shadow of his hood, were striking. Familiar.

“Bah, another tormentor comes to break me, or to try. And such a frail one at that,” he remarked disdainfully, as he raised his head to glare at her. “Has the Titan Lord a lack for decent help?”

Melinoë was near at a loss for words as he addressed her, in a tone so powerful that the earth itself seemed to shake. “You… Lord Hades. Is that truly you?”

The man in question snorted weakly, though whether it was amusement or exasperation remained to be seen. “Lord, is it? How deeply unnerving to be greeted as such. Respect may cut worse than a knife in this place. I’m surprised your master knows that.”

“Lord Hades, I…” she trailed off as her heart got caught in her throat. “Don’t you recognise me? I’m Melinoë, I’m your daughter, I—”

She spluttered suddenly as thick white-pink petals surged up and began to choke her. Hurriedly, she turned and attempted to clear herself of it, to spare herself the embarrassment of appearing so ill before her Lord Father.

“White asphodel…” Hades remarked in sudden horror and recognition. “Melinoë… my daughter, what are you doing here? You cannot be here—Blast it, but you have the curse too.”

“’Too?’ You… know about it, Father?” Melinoë questioned breathily, feeling suddenly scrutinised under his gaze.

“It is an ailment of love,” he told her mournfully, like every word pained him utterly beyond belief. “The heart carries with it the seed of despair, of the pain that love unrequited brings. Until one conquers it, or dies in agony.”

“You know how to end it?” she blurted, feeling hope surge within her suddenly. “Father, if you know something, then…”

“…I do,” he confirmed after a moment’s hesitation. “Your brother, Zagreus, suffered it for a time well before you were born. It trapped him in a state between death, consumed as fodder and fertiliser for those growths. Only the confirmation of requited love freed him from his wretched condition.”

“A love confession? That’s it?” Melinoë guffawed in disbelief, despite the way her gut gurgled in protest. “Gods. I’ve hardly the time for such things. Especially now. My task directs me to the House, to kill Chronos and reclaim our rightful places there!”

“Love rarely avails us at a convenient time, Melinoë,” Hades commiserated, offering her a look of understanding and sympathy. “I can say from experience that this is not something you can delay. To see my own daughter reduced to such a state… that would be a greater torture than anything I have suffered thus in Tartarus.”

Melinoë felt her throat constrict, as if to warn her of oncoming tears. She bowed her head with a wince. Zagreus had said the same thing. It made sense now, why he had been so panicked at the very mention of it.

“I… I have been doing what I can to counteract it,” she assured in a tone that was not very reassuring. “With my Headmistress’ assistance, I mean. I won’t let myself succumb to these flowers, I swear.”

“See to it that you don’t,” he insisted firmly. “Whichever love weighs on your heart now, you must open yourself up to it. Do not conceal it, lest it consume you.”

“I will… I will try, Father,” she promised weakly. “On my honour.”

“Now, take this and go,” Hades commanded, as he offered what little power he could spare. “Do not linger in this place, lest Chronos discovers us here.”

With his warning firmly given, and a blessing in turn offered to help her deal with Chronos, Melinoë reluctantly left her father’s chamber and continued her descent through Tartarus.

She made her way to the House of Hades in record time, emboldened by the boon given by her father. With Descura in hand, she silently vowed that Chronos would fall and she would soon be freed of the curse of flowers.

For her family. For herself.

When she arrived to the main hall, Chronos was already there waiting with a displeased expression on his face. “You…”

He looked in particularly rough shape, even at a distance. There was a sudden frailty to his features, a gauntness in his body and limbs unbefitting of a deathless Titan. Generally, he was an imposing figure.

Yet that night, atop his stolen throne, Chronos looked no more powerful than an aging mortal man.

“I know not what manner of witchcraft you have involved yourself in, girl,” he greeted with a disapproving hum. “Nonetheless, if you ever hope to see your family again, you will undo whatever wretched curse you have placed upon me now.”

Melinoë squinted at him and scoffed. “Your threats don’t scare me old man. And for your information, I have placed no curses upon you myself. Perhaps the Fates themselves simply willed it that you should suffer terribly for usurping my Father’s throne.”

“Void take the Fates!” he snarled furiously. “It is because of their influence that the Golden Age ever ended at all, that my traitorous children thought themselves able to rule in my place.”

Chronos stood from the throne with a harsh splutter and wheeze, propelling more sand-coated flower petals onto the ground beside him. Even in his weakened state, he towered over Melinoë significantly.

“I took drastic action to deal with their wretched prophecy, to circumvent their design back then. I’m sure you’ve heard the tale. Perhaps this time, I shall be able to make sure what I swallow stays put.”

A chill ran down Melinoë’s spine. The tale was infamous, of course. How the Titan of Time had taken matters into his own hands and swallowed each of his children as infants so that he could never be overthrown, only for Rhea – almighty Titan and mother of Zeus – to hide the last of his children away, so that he could train in secret to overthrow Chronos under the tutelage of the attendant Amalthea. Not unlike Melinoë’s own tale, in a sense.

The truth of the mighty war between Titans and Gods had become marred over time, saturated by propaganda and twists of the truth by the winning side. Even Hecate did not fully offer insight into the reality of the events when Melinoë had asked.

It left enough room for doubt as to create fear.

Whether Chronos really did eat his own young was unclear, but clearly he understood what the reference to such an idea did to his granddaughter. The spike of terror that shot through her mind, her hesitance, was enough to make him grin like he’d already won.

If she faltered… would he really do it? Try to consume her, swallow her whole so she could no longer fight back? Would anyone know what had become of her if she failed?

The thorns in her throat began to constrict, pulsing vindictively as the fight between them both began once more. She was out of breath faster than usual, winded and affected by the threat far more than her blasted pride would let her admit. That fact seemed to greatly amuse Chronos.

“Why do you lag on your feet, girl?” he mocked salaciously, seeming to luxuriate in every missed step and every slice into her skin. “Do you fear me that much? And here you were so confident in our previous meetings…”

“Shut up,” she hissed in a low tone, as she struck back at him and in turn avoided another of his blows. “I care not for your idle prattle, just fight.”

It had become almost routine, the way that they fought. Chronos fought in such a manner every single time that Melinoë could predict exactly what his next move would be. And yet that night, she may as well have been fighting him for the first time.

Melinoë felt clumsy, out of sorts. Her head spun wildly with unnerve, and yet the most damnable distraction of them all were the flowers growing through her chest – fit to burst.

Despite his own state of disarray, Chronos wasn’t all that much weaker either. He took advantage of every gap in her defences, brought her down to near death without even breaking a sweat several times.

On one such gap, it appeared he had finally gotten the better of her. Melinoë stumbled and fell supine before him, allowing him to pin her into place. Chronos placed a heel onto Melinoë’s stomach and pressed down, seeming to relish in the pained squeal she let out as he did so.

“I have suffered much at the hands of this family,” he snarled, scythe in hand making him appear like the visage of Death rather than Time. “Cut to ribbons and scattered among Tartarus… Humiliated, all for sons who would make the same mistakes I did!”

Her ribs cracked under the weight, and with the added pressure of shattered bones, her lungs could no longer keep the brambles in her chest secure. Melinoë choked as the roots and growths shifted to harm her even further.

Flower petals soaked in ichor, dark enough in colour to appear like rotting mulch, leapt from her throat and splattered all over her. It was a deep and sincere humiliation, for her enemy to see her in such a pathetic state.

Yet for one as markedly cruel as Chronos – he was suddenly at a loss. He paused, seeing her cough and wheeze in agony with what seemed to be a conflicted look on his face.

“You—!” Chronos remarked in horror, his tone marked with genuine surprise. “Flowers petals. Then… No, this cannot be. An illusion? A trick? You wretched thing!”

He stumbled back onto the balls of his feet, seemingly taken aback by the revelation that Melinoë too was cursed. As if in a surge of sympathy, Chronos began to splutter rapidly into his fist, each hack sounding like the rumble of thunder.

“Void take this damnable curse,” he wheezed aggressively. “What do I care if we share more than blood? Blood never brought mutual understanding between me and the rest of our kin!”

With every ounce of effort she could summon, Melinoë surged up onto her feet and struck Chronos true, right in his blasted heart. His golden eyes widened with betrayal, and he cursed his granddaughter’s very name as he faded into dust.

Chronos had fallen, though it did not really feel like a victory.

Melinoë stumbled down the hall, and into her brother Zagreus’ chambers like a walking corpse. She laid down on his bed with a wince and allowed herself to fall into dream with a murmured spell.

Through the power of the Mirror of Night, Melinoë once again came face to face with her brother.

“Melinoë, right, you’re here,” Zagreus greeted in a sudden fluster. “About the flower curse you’re dealing with, it’s a curse of love, the only way to solve it is with a—”

“A love confession and reciprocated feelings, I know,” she wheezed with a groan. “I’ve got it handled. Our father informed me just recently when I found him imprisoned in the depths of Tartarus.”

“Father did?” he murmured as he blinked in surprise. “I… suppose that shouldn’t be surprising. He was always practical when you got right down to it.”

Zagreus’ expression looked deeply pained and bitter for a moment, before he shook himself free of whatever intrapersonal conflict had overcome him.

“I’m sorry, sister, it’s just… you look terrible,” he remarked with a soft mix between horror and sympathy. “Is this how much the curse has progressed since last we spoke?”

“In a way. I’d be better off if Chronos hadn’t nearly crushed me to death before I could come here,” she admitted with a weak and ironic scoff. “Look, Zagreus – brother – I know you’re hesitant about your role in this, but looking at me now, do you honestly think this is just some figment of your imagination? Do you still think me false?”

Zagreus’ expression became laden with guilt. “I… don’t. You’re back far too soon for it to be a coincidence, much less a twisted creation of my own nightmare. It’s just unbelievable, honestly. I don’t get why you came to me for help.”

“You were security specialist in your time, weren’t you? It’s not like you’re completely unhelpful,” Melinoë pointed out with a shrug and a pained wince. “And aside from that, I have no other means of contacting anybody else. You’re all I have, Zagreus.”

This answer did not seem to completely satisfy him. Nonetheless, his expression softened and he nodded. “…alright. Have you any idea where I need to begin?”

**

Thanks to Hades, the cure to Melinoë’s ailment was discovered. And though she was grateful for his assistance, as well as the discovery of his condition, quietly Melinoë was mortified by the prospect of what she had to do.

A love confession. With a mere love confession, and to have that love returned – she would finally find her reprieve and she could focus on her Task once more. It was deceptively simple.

At least Zagreus seemed to have finally come around to his role in all this, she supposed. It meant she had enough time to actually follow through with each love confession she had planned.

Despite how often Melinoë tried to set the whims of her heart aside, it had the tendency to fall in love quite frequently. Far more than she particularly cared to admit.

Falling for Nemesis wasn’t unusual. Expected, even. Melinoë liked to be challenged, and Nemesis was nothing if not challenging – given how often she seemed to make herself simultaneously an ally and an obstacle in her task. They were also in close proximity near constantly, and so a somewhat unlikely affection had indeed formed between them.

Falling for Icarus, likewise, was as simple as breathing. He had been one of her first friends, a source of rare joy in the Crossroads when she was a youth. Despite his tragic fate, he was so full of life and a genuine zeal that was intoxicating to behold. Even before she realised she was in love with him, she would have done anything for him. He made her feel like she was flying.

Moros and Eris, however, had been truly surprising. Doom and Strife were not typically the sorts of things one invited into their heart, willingly or unwillingly. And yet, both those usually unwanted Children of Nyx had found their way into Melinoë’s deepest affections.

Admittedly, Moros at least made sense. He had a gentle and polite disposition. Aside from the visual and auditory appeal of the man himself, Moros was a remarkably kind soul with a certain fond and curious exasperation about him that seemed to draw Melinoë in.

Eris, on the other hand, was an utter anomaly. She was rude, loud-mouthed, obnoxious, downright immature and an active hindrance to the Task of dealing with Chronos’ forces on the surface.

And yet. Yet. Even she, infuriatingly, had caught Melinoë’s eye. Not because she was something to be changed or a problem to be fixed. Simply because Melinoë couldn’t deny how utterly invigorated she felt in the Daughter of Nyx’s presence.

When Melinoë had revealed the undoing of her curse to Hecate, the Witch had made the direction of her pupil quite plain. She could not afford to take chances, not even for her pride. She would have to confess her affections to each person she held dear.

All four of them.

Melinoë didn’t think herself particularly shy at the best of times, but there was something about her Headmistress demanding such vulnerability and honesty out of her that made her squirm in discomfort.

Loving them was easy. Telling them was going to be harder.

At the very least, she could continue bridging the gap between her potential paramours with gifts as she had already. Nectar, bath salts, fishing lures, and the sweetest, richest of hard-won Ambrosia had already played a significant role in her ability to connect with them.

From here, it would simply be a matter of continuing to give gifts while opening up about her true feelings. She would have to press upon them the importance of her affections, and potentially hint as to the nature of her curse, then hope they would return her love in kind.

If not… well. She would think of something. Far greater obstacles stood in her path than the growths in her chest, like the Father of All Monsters and Time Itself.

First on her list – Nemesis.

Melinoë could feel Retribution Incarnate’s glare upon her skin before she even approached, as if the daughter of Nyx had somehow predicted what the other goddess had in mind.

Lo and behold, that glare had settled into a particularly nasty stink-eye by the time Melinoë rounded the corner and began to bring out the bottle of Ambrosia stashed behind her back.

“No,” Nemesis hissed, with a low and burning grumble.

Melinoë huffed playfully in turn. “You don’t even know what I’m about to say, Nem—”

“You’re about to say some flowery nonsense about how we’ve ‘earned the right’ to a little indulgence and that you brought that Ambrosia as a continuing token of your respect for me, or whatever,” Nemesis insisted with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not buying it today. So just… take that bottle and go, alright?”

Ordinarily, Melinoë might have listened. Ordinarily, she might have even offered an apology for attempting to show clearly unwanted affection. Yet that particular night, Melinoë felt something akin to frustration and irritation in her chest.

“Awfully unkind of you to turn down a gift, Nemesis,” Melinoë hummed in a tone that was simultaneously venomous and flirtatious “It truly is meant as a token of my affection for you. If you think now is not the right time to indulge, then at least take it for later, would you?”

“’Affection?’” Nemesis questioned with a scoff. “Come on, Princess, don’t try and guilt me with that crap. I know you can’t stand me.”

“There’s a lot of things I happen to find deeply enjoyable about you, Nem,” Melinoë insisted with a her hands on her hips. “Despite your obstinance, I think you’re quite admirable in your convictions and strength. Not to mention some of your finer physical qualities.”

Nemesis’ expression suddenly puckered, as though she’d swallowed something incredibly distasteful. “What.”

The expression was oddly adorable, and it made Melinoë’s chest feel aflutter and giddy. “Look, Nem. I don’t want to pressure you in anyway, or pull out the rug from underneath you – so to speak – but I truly do care for you. All I hoped to impress upon you with this Ambrosia is that you mean a lot to me, and I wish to grow closer. In a number of ways.”

The Goddess of the Dead once again held the bottle of Ambrosia aloft for Retribution to take, invitingly. Nemesis blinked at her with sheer confusion, but silently took the bottle nonetheless.

Melinoë smiled warmly one last time, winked poignantly, and then dashed away with a stomach full of butterflies. It wasn’t as though Nemesis had declared her reciprocation of love, exactly. Frankly, the response had left Melinoë with more doubt as to how Nemesis felt about her, but it was a step forward.

After all, she could only confess her feelings. She could not force anyone to love her.

Later, on one of Melinoë’s many trips into the Underworld, Nemesis had cornered her against one of the chamber walls somewhere in Oceanus.

“Hey,” Nemesis greeted, casually, like she wasn’t bracketing Melinoë in with her incredibly muscled arms and legs against the cold surface.

Melinoë, who at that point had only just gotten a proper grasp of her racing heart, replied in turn, “Hey, Nem.”

Nemesis scrunched up her face again, and clenched the muscles in her arms like she was about to strike. Then after a moment, she simply sighed and hung her head down in defeat. “Damn it, why the hell did I listen to Tyche anyway?”

“Nem? Are you alright?” Melinoë questioned softly, tilting her head in concern.

Steel returned to Nemesis’ eyes as she turned and glared at the witch with a hiss. “No, I’m not. You’ve gotten into my head and there’s almost nothing I can do to get you out. It’s infuriating.”

“Oh,” Melinoë remarked softly, feeling more than just a little bit pleased by the admission.

“What?” Nemesis snapped, as a touch of colour rushed to her cheeks.

In turn, Melinoë placed a hand just atop Nemesis’ chest, above the plate of her armour. She swayed her hips invitingly and peered up at the other goddess with a soft smile. “Nemesis. Tell me if this is too much, and I’ll let it be.”

Emboldened and perhaps a bit unwisely, Melinoë wrapped an arm around Nemesis’ neck and pulled her down into a sweeping kiss. After a brief whimper of surprise, Retribution Incarnate sank into the embrace with ease – kissing Melinoë back like they had both been meant to be together their entire existences.

**

Confessing to Moros came next, by virtue of his being the second-most present figure of all her love interests. In all of the many times that Melinoë and Moros had spoken, the Goddess had found it was actually quite difficult to get a proper read of him.

He was quite reserved in disposition, as well as gentle and unsure of himself in a way that seemed to so starkly contrast his sisters’ that also occupied the Crossroads.

There had been a few occasions where Melinoë had managed to pry open his tightly closed outer shell, and gotten a look at the heart of the man within. Even so, he kept a certain amount of distance between them both, and frankly Melinoë wasn’t sure why.

If she’d had the time to wait, Melinoë would have. She would never want to push him to share more than he was willing, much less force him into the impossible position of needing to reciprocate her feelings if he didn’t wish her to suffer thorn-filled lungs forevermore.

Yet unfortunately for them both, her condition wasn’t the most conducive to waiting for the right opportunity.

“Lord Moros?” she called out, as she left her tent and found him waiting beside the Fated List of Minor Prophecies, as he always was. In turn he greeted her with a gentle bow and smile. “Princess. What can I do for you?”

“Have you a moment to spare?” she asked hesitantly. “I could use the company, if it would not be too much of an imposition.”

Moros hummed in contemplation, hesitance evident in his expression. “I do not have any particular plans this evening. What did you have in mind, a trip to the taverna?”

“I had hoped to have something of a private discussion,” Melinoë admitted as heat rushed to her cheeks under his intense gaze. “The taverna might be a bit public for it. Would you mind terribly joining me in my tent?”

Surprise and something akin to fluster settled across Doom Incarnate’s features, before his expression settled into fondness. “I… wouldn’t be opposed. If you think that is not too untoward of me, then I’d love to receive your hospitality.”

Melinoë ushered him over to the entryway of her tent and set out a bottle of Ambrosia atop the low table in the centre of it.

“It is rare for me to receive an invitation into someone’s space like this, Princess,” Moros admitted, as he knelt across from her on one of her many plush rugs and blankets. “I admit, this is a novel experience for me.”

“Truthfully, I don’t receive many guests here either,” Melinoë replied, in a tone she hoped was reassuring. “Well, apart from Dora, but she’s really more of a co-inhabitant than a guest.”

Moros chuckled lightly. “Then this is a first for the both of us. I’m glad we do not find ourselves on uneven ground then.”

The Ambrosia flowed between them just as their conversation did. It was almost too easy to forget the real objective behind the meeting, as Melinoë found herself swept up in the bliss of Moros’ company.

Melinoë swallowed roughly around her next gulp of Ambrosia, feeling the hollow grooves and wounds in her throat from where thorns had pierced flesh with each trickle down. She sighed heavily, and glanced guiltily down at her hands.

“I am sorry, Moros, I… I fear I may have invited you here under false pretences,” Melinoë admitted with a low bow of her head.

Moros tilted his head in confusion with a frown settling between his brow subtly. “Oh? How so?”

“I… this evening has been lovely,” she prefaced with a soft smile. “And I’m so incredibly thankful you cared to join me and share this bottle. I just… my motivations are somewhat selfish.”

Silently, he awaited for her to explain, his eyes like the deepest dark of a night sky full of stars. It was intense in a way that made her heart flutter and begin to race wildly.

“Do you remember when I first asked you about the flower curse that I carry?” Melinoë asked, as she squirmed nervously. When he nodded, she continued. “It… is apparently a curse of love. One that can only be ended by returned affections.”

“I… see,” he replied coolly, with a look of forced neutrality that did not seem entirely convincing. “Forgive me if this is presumptuous, Princess, but… was your goal for this evening to confess any such affections to me?”

“Yes,” she admitted with a flush. “I hold quite a lot of affection for you, Lord Moros. And I understand that my feelings for you may not be returned—”

“That isn’t it at all,” he interjected firmly, surprising the both of them from the sudden sharpness of his tone and volume. “In truth, I hold quite a lot of affection for you too, Princess Melinoë. It is just… I am betrothed to another.”

Melinoë’s heart leapt up into her throat, her chest suddenly aching with new growths. Jealousy, hopelessness, resignation – all tinged with fear and heartache “I… see.”

“I have never met the woman in question,” Moros explained somewhat frantically. “Though it is the will of the Fates that I am to wed one like the morning light, whose luminance breaks through the darkness and reveals the beauty of the world. You’re… I would describe you much different than that.”

“I understand, Lord Moros,” she assured gently, strained nonetheless. “You needn’t justify such a fated partnership. I wouldn’t want to get between you and your intended.”

“That is just the thing, Melinoë,” Moros insisted softly, leaning over to take her by the hand with determination in his eyes. “I have always closely followed the will and whims of my sisters. And yet, when I think upon a future where I am not closely by your side, I feel my loyalty to their vision begin to buckle and bend.”

Melinoë felt a surge of relief and yearning threaten to overcome her. “I don’t intend to drive a rift between you and your sisters,” she clarified, nonetheless. “Though, I admit that the thought of ever losing you entirely hurts more than any curse I have thus far endured.”

Moros brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear and met her eyes with such severe longing in his own that it made her ache. “I dare not predict what the future holds, Princess. But I can say that whatever lies ahead… I would fight tooth and nail to remain here with you.”

Whether it was Melinoë or Moros who then moved to kiss the other first was unclear. Yet it mattered not, as Doom Incarnate and the Princess of the Underworld fell into each other’s loving embrace with such ease that it felt entirely natural.

There was no doubt as to the affections shared between them, after that night.

**

Icarus was the third on Melinoë’s list to confess her love to. She had been spending much more time on the surface in recent nights, what with the looming threat of Typhon bearing down on Olympus.

Icarus hadn’t been back to the Crossroads in quite some time, in truth. She had extended him the invitation again, and he periodically made his way there. But he never stuck around for very long or particularly frequently.

As such, her best chance to see him was in the Rift of Thessaly. He wasn’t there every time. Nor was he always able to sneak away for a quick chat or catch up, even when he was there.

So when he was, Melinoë took every advantage to make sure he was taken care of. She had given him a fair few bottles of Nectar already, and they’d shared a peaceful bath together in the Springs.

As Fate would have it, on that particular eve, Melinoë ran into him on one of the ships in Thessaly, all of the enemies onboard already dealt with.

“Melinoë,” Icarus greeted with a startled squeak. “Hi. It’s good to see you. It’s been a bit. Was starting to get worried you were never coming back to the Surface.”

“My… attentions have been a bit narrow-minded lately,” she agreed guiltily. “But you’ve got my full focus now. Right now, I’m all yours.”

This seemed to fluster him even more, as his cheeks blossomed a much more rosy red. How it was possible for a Shade to appear so absolutely flushed and adorable, Melinoë couldn’t say. But she knew it looked good on him.

“Honoured as ever, Meli,” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Honestly though, I’m glad you’re okay. I’ve been hearing things that made me really worried.”

“Oh? Like what?” she asked with a soft frown.

“Oh, you know. Just that you’ve been horrifically cursed, or something,” he admitted with a grimace. “I wasn’t sure if it was true, because how does anyone curse someone as powerful as you, but… well.”

There was no sense hiding it from him. And truthfully, Melinoë felt bad enough for unintentionally avoiding him by going into the Underworld so often and staying within the Crossroads.

“It’s true,” she confirmed with a maudlin expression. “I have been cursed. Though, I am taking active efforts to undo it as we speak.”

Icarus’ eyes widened and his breath hitched. “Oh gods, Meli, I… I’m so sorry. So the rumours really are true? You’ve been coughing up flowers.”

She nodded simply. “It’s alright. I’m working on it. Though… if you want to help me out, I can actually think of something that might be of some use.”

“Anything,” he agreed, almost immediately, like it came naturally to him.

“Do you think you could find somewhere for us to slip away?” she prompted. “There’s a hidden isle somewhere among this fleet where I know we’ll be undisturbed. If you can track it down from the skies, I should be able to find you and meet you there.”

Icarus nodded eagerly. “Sure. I mean, of course. I’ve got time to spare. These ships are getting the worst of the Earthshaker’s wrath, so… I’m sorta supplementary to things anyway.”

He quickly flew off into the skies once more, with such ease that it looked like he was always meant to do it. Her chest constricted at such a thought. What a cruel thing to think, when it had been the reason he died in the first place.

Nonetheless, Melinoë couldn’t deny how beautiful he looked soaring through the night sky.

She followed his trail through Chronos’ many fleets, until eventually the two of them finally met once again at the hidden isle of Thessaly.

It was peaceful. Unlike the rest of the Rift, it was quiet and restful in a way that reminded Melinoë of the Hot Springs back in the Crossroads. The tension that was previously present in Icarus’ face seemed to melt away as the sounds of battle became entirely distant.

“I had no idea this place even existed,” he remarked, his eyes full of wonder. “It’s beautiful.”

“I was only able to happen upon it by an incantation,” Melinoë explained with a soft smile. “If not for the fact that there’s so many other things demanding my attention out there, I’d be inclined to spend more time here.”

“I might do so myself, honestly,” he chuckled shyly. “If I can find it again. I swear it knew only to reveal itself once it knew I was looking for this place on your behalf.”

“I’m sure I could figure out an incantation to get you special access as well,” she reassured, playful yet sincere. “It’d be nice to have another place where I can find you.”

Icarus smiled softly, sheepishly like she had rendered him speechless. “If you’re certain. It’s not my wish to inconvenience you,” he murmured after a few moments of silently squirming under her gaze.

“It’s no inconvenience, really,” she insisted. “I care for you, Icarus. Greatly. I want you to be comfortable and cared for. If it’s in my power to provide for you, then that’s what I seek to do.”

“You’re too good to me, Meli,” he near whimpered under the intensity of her gaze. “Gods. I don’t know how to even articulate how it makes me feel when you say such things.”

This was her opportunity. Though she had planned a bit more of a grandiose expression, rather than the rising desperation to declare her feelings that was hot on her heels, Melinoë found that she could no longer hold herself back.

“Allow me to articulate my own feelings here, then,” Melinoë murmured, eagerly as her heart soared with adrenaline and anticipation. “I have many feelings for you Icarus. You were my earliest friend, and I have always loved you for as long as I’ve known you. It’s only recently that I realised that love went beyond friendship.”

Icarus’ eyes went impossibly wide. “I… I didn’t think. I mean, I hoped, but… it seemed so impossible, I… I mean me? A lowly shade compared to the Princess of the Underworld, a literal Goddess?”

His knees buckled, though through sheer force of will he was able to stay upright. “I… I have always loved you too, Meli. Goddess. Melinoë. I feared becoming too familiar with you, getting you hurt once again, but… even so, I cannot deny my heart.”

“Don’t deny it,” she implored, longing to hold his face in her ghostly palm. Though she could not truly touch him, the intention behind the gesture was enough. “Honour it. Feel it. I love you, Icarus.”

“And I love you,” Icarus responded in kind, eyes brimming with tears in the low moonlight.

If the pair could have held one another, they would have. Despite the physical limitations between them, there could be no denying just how much affection they shared. Indeed, Icarus and Melinoë had never been surer of anything in their entire existences.

“…what did you need my help with?” he asked suddenly, as if it had just occurred to him the original reason why they were both there.

“Oh, this,” she admitted with an impish grin. “I was… planning this big speech about how I feel for you, but you managed to get the jump on me.”

He chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head fondly. “Gods. I can’t believe you’re real. That you’re here and… that you feel this way for me.”

“I know that mortals tend to only seek out the affections of one person,” Melinoë noted guiltily. “So I don’t want you to be blindsided. I am… with other people. I understand if that changes things for you.”

“It is unconventional for us mortals, yes, though not unheard of,” he agreed sheepishly. “But I would never let myself stand in between you and your happiness, Meli. I am just grateful that I share in your heart at all.”

If they could have, the two would have kissed to affirm their shared affection. As it was, a shared look of longing and an exchange of gifts between them was all that could suffice in that moment.

Nonetheless, Melinoë vowed to herself that one day she would be able to hold him as she longed for desperately.

**

Eris was the wildcard. In comparison to approaching Moros, Icarus, and Nemesis – Melinoë genuinely was at a loss for how to express her feelings to Eris. In truth, she was somewhat flabbergasted that she even had feelings for Strife in the first place.

Still, denying the problem at hand would not serve her whatsoever. Melinoë had to seize the moment, and just let it all out. Whether or not Eris reciprocated would have to be another issue entirely.

She had specifically prepared the finest Ambrosia for Eris, one that was particularly aged and incredibly rich in flavour. Melinoë was fairly sure that Eris wasn’t one for material goods as such, but it was as good a plan as any.

Besides, offering only words to prove her affection felt… lacking.

“So I’m the lucky last on your list, huh?” Eris greeted with a faux pout and a hand on her hip as Melinoë approached, ambrosia bottle in hand.

Melinoë frowned, utterly dumbfounded and taken off guard. “I’m…sorry?”

“Damn right you should be!” she hissed playfully, with an edge of genuine hurt behind her words. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell me that you were cursed, babe. That’s the sorta thing you don’t keep to yourself. What was I supposed to if you just suddenly stopped showing up to our beach dates because you choked to death on flowers?”

Melinoë blinked rapidly, then settled into a surprised smile. “I… didn’t think you would care, Eris.”

“Well, you thought wrong, babe,” Eris scoffed. “I happen to care a lot. Which is a new thing for me, I’ll admit, so thanks a lot for that.”

The Goddess of the Dead felt her chest suddenly lift up, as if her burden had significantly lightened. “How did you hear about the curse to begin with? I’m fairly sure I never communicated that fact to you.”

“You didn’t have to,” she shrugged with a huff. “These Shades are all up in everybody’s business, including yours. If you wanted it to be a secret, you did a pretty bad job keeping it that way.”

Melinoë supposed that was fair. She hadn’t been the most discreet, especially when the growths became particularly noticeable and actively impeded her wellbeing enough to need tending.

“You have a point,” Melinoë conceded sheepishly. “And don’t worry, with any luck, this old curse of mine shouldn’t interfere any further. I’ll still make sure we see one another out in Thessaly.”

“You’d better,” Eris huffed triumphantly. “And I’ll take that bottle you brought, by the way. I still haven’t figured out how to make my own, so yours will have to do. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll share it with you at some point.”

Without further argument, Melinoë handed over the bottle of Ambrosia. “Can I just ask… is this your somewhat roundabout way of telling me that you’re not only aware of my feelings towards you, you also feel the same?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Eris grumbled with a roll of her eyes. “I like you, Trouble. If you’re looking to define what that means for us, then don’t. We can just let it be whatever it is until that changes, ‘kay?”

Well, that was surprisingly easy. Melinoë could always count on Eris to surprise her, especially when she least expected it.

“Thanks Eris,” she murmured with a fond grin. “That sounds good to me.”

As she departed, she blew Strife a kiss and quietly enjoyed the spluttering exclamations of outrage, fluster, and genuine exasperation that followed in turn.

**

Despite Melinoë’s best efforts, and her confessions of love to all four objects of her affection – her condition had only gotten worse.

Hecate’s alchemical interventions prevented the flowers from actually killing Melinoë, but they could not cull the infection in its entirety. There were times where she could feel the roots go deeper into her lungs, thorns pierce into her heart, and petals blossom in her throat.

Others, she felt entirely normal. Like they weren’t even there, much less that they were an issue she had to worry about.

She was still having great success with her task. Chronos fell to her blades more often than not, and indeed Typhon was quickly becoming a mere nuisance as opposed to an actual threat.

On the other hand, things for her Grandfather appeared to be getting even worse. His curse had progressed, greatly. The growths within his lungs and chest had all but fully consumed him, meaning the flowers now sought new places to grow.

One such stubborn flora had seen fit to make its home in his eye socket, bursting forth unapologetically. The Titan of Time had been all but consumed by the asphodel that protruded through his skull.

And yet, he still fought as fiercely as ever.

It seemed that neither of them were having success with ending their own respective suffering. That was until things started to change.  

The arrival of a Chaos Gate felt preordained. She hadn’t seen one in far too many nights. It was as if Chaos had been deliberately avoiding her, or hiding their many entryways from her on both the Surface and within the Underworld.

When presented with the opportunity to seek them out once more, Melinoë did not hesitate. She steeled herself and made her way into their domain.

Unceremoniously, the deep purple energy that she recognised as their symbol and offering sat in the centre of the structure she found herself in. It seemed to pulse as she approached, with an eagerness or anxiety oddly unlike Chaos.

“In the name of Hades…” she murmured, signalling her acceptance.

“I have been in contemplation these past several nights, Spawn of Hades,” Chaos told her, as she took their boon in hand. “When first we met, I had recognised the lingering energy of a very old creation of mine and the Goddess Aphrodite’s within you. An old experiment created after the fall of Primordial Ouranos, and the dawn of the Golden Age. I wonder how it was that you came across such a thing. Respond.”

“This curse was your creation, Chaos?” Melinoë questioned, feeling the slight jab of betrayal in her chest. “Headmistress Hecate thought you may have been behind it, but I never believed you would curse me without warning…”

“It was not intentional on my part,” they clarified, their sharp and void-like gaze meeting her own eyes. “An oversight of improper disposal. I had entrusted its removal to its co-creator,  Aphrodite, upon request of the God-King of Olympus. I theorised she must not have properly done so, thus her carelessness resulted in undue harm.”

“I don’t suppose there is any chance you can remove it, Master Chaos?” she questioned, bowing uneasily before them nervously.

“I believe my direct intervention may cause more issues than it would solve,” they insisted simply. “It is not my nature to offer a boon without consequence. I fear that your condition may worse, and result in further complications. This would not be favourable to you, would it?”

Melinoë sighed deeply, hope carried away just as it came. “No. It would not.”

“However, if I may offer another path…Your brother, Zagreus,” they murmured in their low and foreboding drawl. “He too once possessed the curse you carry. As your Lord Father recounted, he was freed of it by the affirmation of requited affections. But that is not the only solution.”

“It isn’t?” Melinoë perked up, before remembering to allow Chaos the space to speak. “Almighty Chaos, if there is another solution, I beg you to speak of it. Whatever the price, I shall pay it.”

This seemed to amuse the origin of all, as they tilted their head with a hum. “I had considered sharing this with you earlier, but my own reflections on the multi-faceted nature of love led me to believe this path would be unfavourable. I am interested to see my assumption rendered false.”

“What is it?” she implored. “If it would help, then…”

“The origin of the curse itself is the seed that plants within the recipient’s heart and soul. It reads within your deepest feelings and hidden affections, latches onto them, then bursts forth from that point. But if there was nothing for the seed to attach to – then the curse is rendered null and void, without the need for reciprocation,” Chaos explained simply.

“You’re saying if I were to… stop loving whoever is the source of this curse, then I would be free of it?” Melinoë concluded, feeling her chest constrict at the very thought. “Reciprocation would not be necessary?”

“Indeed,” they confirmed. “Though such a thing was often not possible for mortalkind, who would perish before their affections could naturally fade. In such cases, their only reprieve in death was to drink of the river of forgetfulness.”

The Lethe. Gods, she hadn’t even considered it to be an option. And yet upon reflection, it seemed so obvious. If she could not free herself the intended way, then the Lethe would be the way out.

In a mortal, just the slightest sip could be enough to free them of all trace of memory and being. The effects would prepare Shades for reincarnation, to allow them to return to life, if they were worthy of it.

For a God or similar immortal, the Lethe was not quite as potent. With a measured dose, one could take off the edge of unpleasantness that came with living forever, in theory. Few would dare to try, however. For the risk posed was losing oneself entirely… it could be the closest one could experience to truly dying.

And yet, Melinoë considered the fact she appeared to be out of options.

“You cannot be serious,” Nemesis deadpanned, when Melinoë returned to the Crossroads and informed her of her plans. Her already permanent glare became near murderous, as though Melinoe herself was the target of sudden retribution

“I’ve exhausted all other avenues, Nem,” Melinoë despaired, feeling more defeated than ever before. “Headmistress’ interventions have only slowed the growth of this thing, not outright culled it. If I can’t get rid of it now, then I fear it may be too late.”

“Look, if the supposed solution for this curse is a love confession, then clearly you just haven’t confessed to the right people yet. Is there anybody else?” she grumbled furiously. “Hypnos, maybe? You spend enough time fussing over him.”

“I am not in love with Hypnos,” Melinoë shot back, blushing nonetheless at the accusation. “I respect him greatly, that is different to being in love with him. I know my eye and heart can wander a fair bit, but it is truly just the four of you I have already told.”

“I’m sorry, the four of us?” Nemesis questioned, though not unkindly, just with a bit of surprise laced in her tone.

“Yourself. Moros. Icarus,” Melinoë recounted, then swallowed roughly. “…and Eris.”

Nemesis’ eyes flared with something like disapproval and disdain, before finally settling into a more forced neutrality. “Eris. Right. So you’ve told the four of us your feelings, they’ve been reciprocated, and yet you’re still coughing up flowers.”

“Which is why I’m considering taking the reprieve that the Lethe might bring me,” she explained with a morose look in her eye.

“And in the process, you could end up erasing more of yourself than you think,” Nemesis insisted grimly. “I’ve seen people drink of the Lethe and come back as utter mindless husks, it’ll take more than you wish and more still. That’s what that river does.”

“On this occasion I have to agree with Nemesis, Melinoë,” the familiar drawl of Hecate called out, as she made her way over to them both. “Aside from the great personal risk posed, there is the danger of seeking out the river itself. If you’ll recall, the Lethe primarily runs through Elysium and the dream realm of Oneiros – both of which are barred to us by Chronos’ forces.”

“I can see no other option, Headmistress,” Melinoë protested weakly. “I’ve lost so much progress since this began, I—”

“You will endure,” Hecate assured coolly. “As you have already endured. You are clever enough to circumvent this curse, you need only look within yourself to find the answer you seek. We need not resort to such drastic measures as the Lethe to rid you of these flowers.”

Melinoë sighed with frustration, and a touch of growing fear as thorns nestled deeper into her lungs. “And if I cannot endure? If I become nothing but fertiliser for these wretched growths inside me, if it stops me from continuing my task, if I am about to be claimed by the Styx as I choke to death on petals and thorns – will you use the Lethe to free me of it then?”

“I will make no such promises,” Hecate insisted firmly, glowering down at her pupil. “Nor will I be threatened with hypotheticals. Your task remains the same. You will simply have to keep trying. Let your failures teach you, not defeat you.”

And that seemed to be the end of that.

**
Though Melinoë did not end up taking the reprieve that the Lethe offered, the next time that she faced Chronos – she almost considered telling him about that option.

He looked dreadful, to say that least. It left her wondering – who did the tyrannical Titan of Time love so dearly as to make himself so utterly sick and wretched?

It almost led her to take pity on him. Almost.

Instead, she just made sure to put him down with alarming efficiency. Then, she once again returned to the realm of Nightmares to seek out her brother.

“There you are,” Zagreus greeted energetically. “So, right, progress. I think I’ve found him. Chronos, I mean. Pretty sure he’s got a hideout underneath the House of Hades itself so if I’m to confront him in my time, that’s where I’ll be headed. What was it you said I needed? Something from both my and your time?”

“A weapon,” Melinoë reiterated carefully. “Something not used to defeat Chronos originally, is close to our family, and that I can access here in my time as you can in yours.”

“That’ll probably be our Father’s spear, Gigaros,” he guessed with a shrug. “Though no telling what’s happened to it in your time, I’d have to guess.”

“That’s fine,” she assured roughly. “So long as you claim it and place it somewhere within your chambers, I should be able to find it here in my time.”

She felt the insistent pulse of flowers in her throat once again, bidding her to acknowledge them. As subtly as she could, Melinoë wheezed and hacked into her fist until the wretched petals came free with a wet splat.

“You’re still cursed,” Zagreus noticed, of course, looking far less cheerful. “I thought you said you were going to handle it.”

“I thought I was handling it,” she huffed indignantly. “I confessed to everyone I could think of. As far as I could tell, everyone returns my feelings in kind, and yet…”

“And yet, you’re still suffering a glorified flower bed for lungs,” he joked with a nonetheless pitying grimace. “Sounds familiar. Are you sure you’ve told everyone? It’s just… it might not be the person you expect that’ll break you out of the curse.”

Melinoë scrunched up her nose in confusion. “What do you mean, someone I don’t expect?”

“I can say from experience we don’t always know our own hearts,” Zagreus admitted cautiously. “And even when we reason with ourselves that certain things cannot be true, that may not change the reality.”

“Speak plainly, Zagreus,” Melinoë pleaded, after a moment of letting him ramble. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You recall I had this curse myself once, yes? Once I learned that it was the return of love that would put an end to my suffering, I casted a pretty wide net to make sure everyone close to me knew how I felt about them,” he explained with a sigh. “But it was only when our blasted Father put aside his pride and finally told me that he loved me too that I was freed of it for good.”

“Father was the one who broke your curse?” she questioned in disbelief, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. “But I thought…”

“It’s a curse of love, right?” he emphasised. “That includes all kinds of love. Familial, even. Trust me, it surprised me too. That I loved him enough to get cursed and need confirmation that he cared for me as well.”

The answer was so obvious, in hindsight. Of all the loves she’d longed for in her life, the love of her family was what she yearned for most of all. Of course that would be the answer to all her suffering.

“Zagreus, I…” Melinoë began, stuttering and unsure of herself. “I don’t know how I didn’t realise this. But I would be a fool to not tell you this now. I love you, brother. Always have. And I know that must be strange, coming from someone you barely know, but…”

“It’s alright, sister,” he jumped in to reassure her. “I love you too. And I’m not just saying that, either. In the short time we’ve known each other, I really have felt this pull between us, an undeniable connection. All I can hope is that by helping you here - someday we’ll get to be brother and sister the way that we are supposed to.”

Melinoë felt an overwhelming sensation of love wash over her, and for a brief interval she swore that she could breathe unimpeded again. Zagreus perked up, his eyes full of hope. “Did it work? Are you…?”

“Almost, I think,” she wheezed. “It feels lighter. Like it’s almost gone, but… I think there’s still…”

If it was familial love she needed to end this curse… then the answer to her curse was obvious.

“I have to go,” Melinoë told Zagreus, just moments before she forcefully pulled herself out of the dream. She couldn’t afford even a moment more of hesitance.

It was unwise of her to go racing through the entirety of Tartarus, especially with such a short time frame, but she simply could not find the patience within her to wait. If Zagreus’ own account was correct, if it applied to her as well, then she had to know.

“Daughter?” Hades called out in alarm. “What are you doing back here? You—”

“Please, let me speak,” Melinoë pleaded breathlessly. “There’s only so much time before Chronos returns. I just need you to know, Father. I love you. I have always loved you, since the moment I knew of you. Even though we may as well be strangers, I still love with you all my heart. Do you… feel even a little bit the same?”

The words themselves rang through the chamber like a lightning strike. The air felt electric with anticipation, potential. Melinoë felt more alive and terrified than she had in ages.

Suddenly, the silence was broken.

“…I have loved you since the moment I knew of you as well,” Hades confirmed, his eyes full of hesitance and yet an undeniable vulnerability. “Daughter. Melinoë. Though I grieve for the years we’ve lost, I still cannot help but look upon you with pride for the young woman you have become. I know with certainty your mother would feel the same.”

It was as if the hesitant declaration had been cried out from the top of Mount Olympus. The world itself seemed to freeze, and Time stopped to allow for the weight of such love to truly ring throughout the universe.

Melinoë felt the roots within her chest begin to wither and die, as cool air rushed to fill her scarred lungs in place of the flowers she’d carried for so long.

“Zagreus was right…” she gasped in relief, as the rot within her receded. “He was right, gods how didn’t I think of this myself.”

“Zagreus?” Hades questioned, his eyes once again hardened by concern and fear. “You found him as well? I thought—”

“It’s complicated,” she interjected, realising her mistake of revealing her hand. “But it was thanks to him that I finally realised what love I’ve been holding back. For you. For our family. I didn’t know until now just how much losing you ailed me, nor how desperate I was to know if you could love me in turn.”

Hades scoffed, though it oddly sounded like a curt sob. “It seems such a thing is a family trait. To love one another so fiercely, and yet doubt that that love is shared.”

Melinoë sobbed weakly, smiling in utter relief nonetheless. “As is obstinance, I’d imagine. I’m just relieved… You’ve no idea how much of a weight this lifts, Father.”

“I have more of an idea than you know, Melinoë,” he insisted, gently. “Still… that I could lighten any of the burdens you carry now… it is a greater relief than I could ask for in this place.”

Briskly, Father and Daughter embraced, before the sound of a gong once again signalled that their Time was up. Melinoë bid her farewells to her Lord Father once more, and then returned to the Crossroads with her burdens eased.

Her family loved her.

**

Finally defeating Chronos turned out to be much more bittersweet than Melinoë could have ever expected. The Dissolution of Time had promised a world in which he never existed, in which he had never enacted such cruelty on her family, in which she could finally have her mother and brother and father by her side.

And it gave her that, in a sense. The spell had given her memories of a life she could have lived had Chronos merely been her loving grandfather. And suddenly, the loss of him ached so severely that the seed of rot threatened to plant itself all over again.

When she returned to the House of Hades, it seemed that the life she witnessed as memory was not only given to her. But Chronos too. As well as the rest of her family.

It was… a somewhat dissatisfying resolution.

She told Zagreus as much, as they reunited in the reclaimed House of Hades over a bottle of nectar. He too expressed a similar sentiment.

“These memories,” Zagreus mused forlornly. “Even though that spell of yours makes them feel as if they were real, like they actually happened, I just can’t recognise them as such. I feel as though I never got to be a real big brother to you, Meli.”

“I know what you mean,” she agreed hesitantly. “I… it hurts to think about what we never really had. In the moment, I thought the spell would fix everything but—”

“It fixed our Grandfather, at least,” Zagreus supposed with a weak shrug. “Since he freed us in the House of Hades, and is now no longer planning on keeping us as trinkets up on a shelf. Not to mention how he’s suddenly stopped planning to conquer all of Olympus.”

“Still,” she insisted. “It doesn’t feel like it should. I succeeded. I got our family back. But why do I still feel so cheated?”

“Reconciling the person who hurt you as someone who could change for the better isn’t easy, Melinoë,” Zagreus told her sadly, a knowing glint in his eye. “Even if this is the first step towards a new beginning for our family, it makes sense you would grieve what he took from us.”

An uneasy silence settled between the two of them, an uncomfortable silence like that of an awkward first meeting – even though it wasn’t really that at all. They knew each other. They had spoken to one another several times, both in one life and the other. Still… it felt wrong.

“I think my heart hurts for Mother most of all,” he admitted softly, deciding to end the moment’s silence. “She never got to see me grow up. When she had you, she was so excited to finally have a hand in raising a child of her own. And yet Chronos denied her that too.”

Zagreus’ tone was laden with venom and heartache, as well as deep resignation. Although memories of a lifetime spent with him raced through her head, she felt as though she were looking at a stranger.

The Big Brother Zagreus that she had “grown-up” with was not the same as the one who stood before her. Those magical memories, that alternative superimposed reality that she and her family had collectively hallucinated, however real or unreal those moments were – they felt so distant when she really looked at him there.

“…we can’t ever get back what we lost,” Melinoë agreed with a sigh. “Even with these memories, however true or untrue they are, we cannot deny what we missed out on. We can only try and forge a new path together.”

Zagreus gave her a kind smile, and pulled her into his side affectionately. “Exactly. Took the words right out of my mouth, sister.”

Chronos, despite his genuine remorse for all of the harm he had caused, was not so warmly embraced by his family upon his concession. His children especially – Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades – were apprehensive of his changed nature at best, and downright dismissive of it at worst.

Melinoë understood. Gods above and below, she understood. She scarcely was able to recognise that the man that had treated her so cruelly in one life had been her loving grandfather in another.

“Cruelty is second nature to beings as powerful as we, Melinoë,” the Titan of Time declared with an edge of melancholy, once confiding in her. “It is all most of us have ever known. Though it is no excuse for my actions… it is at least part of why rage and vindictiveness comes so easily to me.”

At the very least, Chronos’ concession meant that he did not need to face his curse alone. He had made near no progress in undoing the thing on his own, unable to parse out its origins unassisted.

Melinoë, taking pity on him, had pulled him aside in Erebus to inform him of the truth.

“It’s a curse of love, Grandfather,” she explained, with a sudden overwhelming sense of guilt on her shoulders. “One of Chaos’ and Aphrodite’s, I’m told. The only cure is the reciprocation of love.”

“I see,” he hummed in consideration. “Is that how you were able to be freed of it? Reciprocated love?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, seeing no reason to lie. “There were those I shared my affections with, thinking they were the origin of the issue. In truth, it was the confirmation of love from our family that freed me. I suspect your own curse may be from similar origins.”

The Deathless Titan’s eyes flashed a mournful and sorrowful expression. “Ah,” he murmured simply. “That explains a lot. Why it endures, for one thing. Reciprocated love… but of course.”

Melinoë went silent as her grandfather tsked in obvious displeasure, as waves of various emotion seemed to try and overcome him in rapid succession, before he finally settled on a carefully placed mask of acceptance.

“I suppose that should be expected, granddaughter,” Chronos informed her with a terse sigh. “It does not surprise me that after all this, there are those in our family who would struggle to love me as I do them. In their position, I know I would feel the same.”

His eyes became suddenly clouded and distant, like he was searching the horizon for something. A pained and bitter smile graced his features as he settled on something. “If it were Ouranos here – your great-grandfather – claiming to seek the things that I do… well. It is not hard to imagine my own descendants feeling the same hesitation and hatred.”

Chronos suddenly tore his gaze from its spot and he instead directed his eyes to fall upon Melinoë, softer and kinder than she had ever seen them. “This is a fate I must endure. It is a small price to pay in comparison for a second lifetime spent with any family at all.”

He gave her a knowing look, like he understood something she herself did not. It made her feel hot with shame, underneath the gilded titan’s scrutinising gaze. A sharp spike of fear she had not felt since first she had faced him as her enemy washed over her.

Melinoë winced, shaking her head as if to free herself of it. “If… With the power of our craft, you could rid yourself of it—”

“To rid myself of this love is not what I seek,” he clarified, with a simultaneously characteristic and unfamiliar gentle look in his eye. “Nor is my willingness to suffer these flowers an attempt at self-flagellation. This is merely what must be done.”

Chronos held Melinoë’s face with a gentleness that instinctively made her shudder, as though she anticipated the affection to come in tow with searing pain. How many times had they stood opposite one another – foes and family all at once.

How many times had one killed the other, suffered great and terrible wounds at the other’s hand, been brought to heel by their own family with vitriol and hatred in their eyes. Surely enough that touch between them still felt like a cool sickle blade pressed against tender ripe flesh, bound to draw blood.

It was then that Melinoë truly understood the heart of the issue.

The truth was that no matter how much Chronos had been changed by the memories of a lifetime that happened through her spell alone – she could not trust him. No matter how much he strove to be better than the Titan who had hurt her family in so many ways – she could not forgive him.

No matter how Chronos atoned for his actions – Melinoë could not truly love him, at least not now.

Perhaps that would change with time. If there was one thing both Titans and Gods both possessed in great abundance, it was Time. Grandfather and Granddaughter alike would both live for many years beyond any mortal lifetime, and likewise would face great opportunity to go beyond the pain between them.

Perhaps forgiveness, or even love, nestled itself amongst the many infinite possibilities ahead of them and their family

For now, sharing a common goal would more than suffice for the Princess of the Dead and the Titan of Time.

With their efforts, Time would continue to flow freely forth.