. . .
“–it can be an action of moving downward, dropping, or falling… or it could be a moral, a social or psychological decline into a specified undesirable state.”
. . .

PROSERPINA:

Before she and Alastor can go shopping later–does this count as a date?–Proserpina had fully intended to leave the house not too far or for long seeing as she no longer felt that secure ever since they’ve been attacked there) when she returned to the shadows to rest.
As an underworld goddess, Proserpina no longer thrives in the realm of the living unless she wills it.
That’s why, at some point, she’s usually on the prowl at night and always had to return to the darkness, to the shadows by morning if she wished to keep her physical being intact. Despite the lack of given mass or any sort of physical substance, the shadows had always felt cold to her.
And despite their lack of form, they had always felt like the thousands of scrabbling hands that tore her apart on that awful night–though no longer not as painful as it had been the first time she had them, there was still a phantom ache from where they had torn her apart. She knows the shadows was never meant to grant her comfort, they were nothing more but cruel reminders of how she had come to be–as she wordlessly directed them to take her somewhere else, deeper to the only place in the dark where she can be left alone with her thoughts.
Here, she finally confirmed: with Alastor Nyx involved, nothing ever goes to plan. And while she liked to think that everything went well, as smooth-sailing her conversation with her other half, she couldn’t still help but feel on edge.
Well yes, Proserpina had every right to be on edge considering that Alastor was too happy to care (she hadn’t had the heart to burst his happy bubble) or the fact Hades most likely knows by now that she might as well have violated her agreement with him all those years ago and–is it still considered a violation of her vow even though she wasn’t really in a relationship with Alastor?–she was worried what this could possibly entail for her, for him.
No matter how much some of the other gods cared about her, even they wouldn’t be able to help Proserpina if worse comes to worst because no one is that foolish enough to stand up to the eldest god. And having Hades find out was already the worst case scenario, no thanks to Apollo.
Could things be even worse?
Could Hades take back her divinity?
The god of the underworld had been the one to grant her godhood so he must be able to take it away the same way Zeus had revoked Apollo and even Poseidon’s divinity on the many times they have sorely displeased him.
But Proserpina had never wanted to be a goddess in the first place. Her immortality had only been a means to live without fear, to become stronger.
And throughout the years, despite the benefits her being a goddess did bring, she couldn’t say that she’d been happy to be divine–there are times she still thinks of herself as human, after all. Certainly, she had been amused for some time, she had been satisfied to play predator and becoming a living nightmare to monsters that once caused her and her brother harm but how could immortality possibly bring her joy when it had been nothing but the price of what brought her on to that point?
Before Proserpina could wallow over her thoughts some more, she briefly felt a faint, insistent pull, kind of an itch in the back of her mind actually, making her pause for a split second but that momentary hesitation was all it needed when that pull suddenly turns into a shove and morphs into an invisible clawed, grip wrapped around her throat dragging her from the shadows and much to her horror, hauling her out into the open because how in the name of Hades is that–?!
Her stomach dropped.
Father, she realized.

. . .
“Sometimes I think I live in a gap between two worlds, one world that I have to wake up to, be adherent of the rules and live in a place that is dictated by others. A place I sometimes feel the fear of aging and dying before I have figured out what it is I am here to do.”
. . .

And yes, things can still get worse.
Proserpina immediately bit her lip to stifle a bloody scream more in surprise than in pain when she was unceremoniously slammed into the cold, hard ground, dozens of human bones lingering about, a child’s skull digging into the small of her back painfully for a moment or two until she instinctively maneuvered herself out of the way of a ribcage, rolling over on her back until she settled into a low crouch.
“My daughter,” the lord of the underworld drawled as he met her gaze from the foot of his throne, “…I see you have behaved impetuously.”
Slowly pushing herself to stand up, Proserpina narrowed her eyes at her father, waiting, not trusting herself to say anything–to negotiate, to apologize, to start begging–just yet… but it seems hesitation wasn’t what Hades was looking for either because he sneered, eyes flashing dangerously with all the wrath of hell in it.
“How disappointing,”
And if Proserpina had thought her blood felt cold when she realized who had taken her from the only place she most thought herself safe, now it most certainly felt like it just did.
“No…” she would have been disgusted at herself, at how her weak her voice suddenly sounded, it was no louder than a mere breath hadn’t she felt the stirrings of that familiar, accursed agony within her very bones, the scarred mark on her back pulsing painfully like a second heartbeat, “NO, PLEASE–!”
“No?” Hades mocked, watching the goddess of shadows fall to her side, writhing and heaving with choked screams, his voice without a hint of sympathy, “Were you not the one to go against your vow, Proserpina? Tell me, were you not the one,” he hisses, completely out of it now as he gripped the arm rests, “…lying at my face?!”
She screamed just as a large maw descended down on her.
No, no, no, not this again–
‘Open your eyes, prinkípissa…’
And she did.
Proserpina was completely out of breath when she felt herself manifest out of the shadows, shuddering as she continued to take in large mouthful of air like a fish out of water, never mind the way her body thrummed and trembled as the phantom pain began to ease as though it was never there in the first place.
Somewhere above her, the sun was peaking past the large leaves shining down upon her sprawled form, making her eyes hurt but she couldn’t look away and it was warming her skin against the cold that never seemed to go away.
She couldn’t feel the grass underneath her bare fingertips as well as she could have, she realized. Somewhere in the distance, she can hear the sound of running water.
Was it a river?
Or was she still dreaming?
A dream, a vision, it never happened.
She was dreaming, she has to be dreaming–
A hand suddenly rested on her shoulder and on instinct, she flinched, shoving it away as she scrambled up.
“It’s me,” the stranger told her, as if it was meant to be comforting.
“Who…” she swallowed, feeling like the wind was knocked out of her again as she stared, eyes wide, “…who are you?”
The tall man regarded her quietly and for a moment, Proserpina thought she was finally losing her mind when the stranger suddenly looked like William, then their dad and Alastor in the next seconds, his face rippling, his form ever-changing to accommodate through the very limited faces of the very few people she feel so at ease.
William, Dad, Alastor, Rei, Dionysus, Demeter, just who is this–? “…I’m hurt,” he tells her and his disembodied voice was familiar, one that she had heard in her head, whispered through a thousand thoughts, “Prinkípissa doesn’t even recognize her oldest friend?”
It couldn’t be–
She swallowed, “…Thanatos?”
The god of death smiled, folding his hands neatly behind him as he stood straighter, “It’s good to finally speak to you like this, goddess of shadows.”
She couldn’t say the same.
“Why… why am I here?” where is even here? How did I come here? “And you’ve been quiet for so long,”
For a moment, he looked apologetic at that and she frowns at him suspiciously, remembering her nightmare that felt more and more like a vision that she thinks will soon come to pass.
“…should I be worried?”
“Yes… but shouldn’t you be thankful I am letting you have your fun, my dear?” Thanatos retorted, sounding resigned as he vaguely gestures for her to sit down.
Proserpina would have asked why until she realized how badly her hands were still shaking so she immediately crossed her arms to keep them out of his sight. He sighed, “You need to learn to enjoy the moment. I can no longer ask anything from you seeing as you are so adamant to do things your way regardless of my wishes… but I suppose there is no much use to it.”
“Yes, too late,” Proserpina muttered, turning to walk away, following the sound of the river with Thanatos right at her heels like faithful shadow, “What about you, Thanatos?”
He hummed in question.
“What will happen to you should I cease?”
She stops when she finally reaches the running river. It wasn’t too far from where she found herself waking up.
The two of them could easily cross it if they wanted to but… there was something heavy that keeps her anchored on the spot so she sighs as she kneels by the river’s edge, holding out her bare hand to the rushing water and relishing the feel of the current.
Never mind the fact she couldn’t feel the cold.
It felt strange without her gloves on.
The black, stem-like markings on the back of her hand are reflected red in the water, looking like the petals of red spider lilies come to life.
It’s been awhile since she has last seen her hands like this. Proserpina had always kept them covered, always kept them out sight unless she had to, she almost forgot the markings still exist… even the large one imprinted on her back, her heart.
When she leans in further, she realizes, with a chill running down her spine that instead of her own reflection, she found absolutely nothing staring right back at her.
Goddess of shadows, indeed.
A hysterical laugh almost bubbled out of her throat.
And there was her father’s voice, for what seemed to be like long ago echoing on and on her ears, you are nothing more than which you ruled.
“That will never happen,” and his words hurt more than the nightmare she just had, “If you died, it will be too easy, don’t you think?”
As far as I am concerned, Winters Veil had died long ago.
She couldn’t bring herself to say it though.
But he smiles as if to say: Yes, yes, she did.
Proserpina huffs out a scoff, leaning away from the river to look at him when he kneeled right next to her to peer at the water. And she bites her tongue to keep herself from mentioning out loud how death has no visible reflection just like her.
I am you…
As if hearing her thoughts because he can, he is in her mind or was she in his now?, the other god turns to look at her in the eye then, their foreheads practically touching with how close they are sitting next to one another and when she blinks, he blinks after a beat too, his smile growing when her frowns deepens and Proserpina suddenly feels like she was looking at a mirror, never mind how broken or twisted, for the first time in so many years.
…and you are me.
She felt rather than saw the markings on her hands pulse with a red light, the beginning of another punishment she felt she was better off staying dead than going through again.
The smile fades from his face.
And she knows he knows it too.
Because ever since Proserpina’s soul was bounded to his on that fateful night, she can feel bits and pieces of Thanatos disappear, fading away and falling to her’s until he was reduced into a mere voice in the back of her mind.
And when she closes her eyes within her shadows, she knows he can feel it too, can feel how she no longer felt as much as herself and more of a shadow between in and out of themselves.
“Open your eyes, prinkípissa,” he tells her again.
She didn’t remember closing her eyes.
But she can’t open them.
She can’t. She can’t. She–
“Have to… I have to–” Proserpina heard herself murmuring as she forced her eyes open only to find herself staring right back to her own eyes, feeling the thousands of hands scrabbling and gripping her like a bunch of crows fighting over themselves for a feast in the back of her mind as they tried to pull her in, take her away from here, “Thanatos, I have to go back.”
But where was here?
Where was here that felt warm, felt safe with a being that looked like every single person she had ever allowed herself to care?
“Thanatos, bring me back!”
William, Alastor, Rei…
Proserpina tried to stand on shaking legs but her knees immediately gave out and she falls down to her side and straight to the water that feels like it was sucking her in ways that made her want to just give up, sleep for a very long time.
Snap out of it, a voice that sounds too much like her brother’s cries, you have to wake up. You have to go back.
And when Winters tries to do just that, to push herself out of the water, tries to at least stay afloat instead of sinking in even deeper, she hears the god of death’s quiet laughter in her ears, sounding like it was coming from her head instead of above and she looks up… only to find her own reflection watching her struggle, watching her descend.
“Go back where, Winters Veil?” she feels more than hears her ask, her ghostly voice all around her, wrapping her in until her vision darkens.

“You’re already on the other side.”

. . .
“That other world is sweet, fresh and misty, inviting adventure into the unknown, melding ancient wisdom with new discovery; the sunlight turning into moonlight and the spell of eternal life is never broken. Perhaps in that gap I should repair the forgotten bridge from one side to the other, but truth be told, I don't want to. I don't want to because I don't have the energy to fix what is broken within.”
― Riitta Klint