But love was trouble. Love was trouble. Love was trouble.
Published by The White Lily Society Magazine - read the full story here
Love was trouble.
She certainly doesn’t look it, Hades muttered to himself, watching her. Despite popular opinion about him up on earth, the God of the Dead didn’t actually resent love. In fact, like all beings, immortal or otherwise, there was a part of him that ached for it. But love was trouble. Love was trouble. Love was trouble.
How often had he seen the souls drifting for eternity, souls condemned to the Underworld purely out of longing, out of heartbreak, out of pain for the one they loved? If they knew what was good for them, they’d stay away from it too. Love was trouble, love was trouble, love was trouble.
Besides, he had enough to worry about, what with the influx of souls, lamenting incessantly. Their cries rattled his brain and echoed in his sleep. During the day, they haunted him, following from place to place, grasping at him with mangled, white hands that would never see the light of day again, would never swim in the sea, would never feel a lover’s embrace. The dead and their regrets were his only company.
And in she strolled, Goddess of Spring. One could not really fault him for taking an interest in her, could they? After so long surrounded by melancholic ghouls he could hardly help but be drawn to the one being that brought life wherever she went. Flowers bloomed in her wake. The sweet scent of hyacinths, hanging ripe from her hair like swollen fruit, following her small form. Part of him was sick of it, her earthly beauty, her sickly colours and smells, her voice - everywhere. He was haunted by her in an unfamiliar yet almost endearing way, like an attention-loving stray cat or a pitiful fly. Her laugh trailed behind every corner, found him on every darkened street. Suddenly, it was less the glimmers of sunlight that fought their way to the depths of the earth and more her, that made his muscles relax and his jaw unclench. She had affected him the way that lavender made one drowsy. She, the unsuspecting beauty; he, the curt, appreciative observer.
Love was trouble, love was trouble, love was trouble.
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