Chapter 6-1: Persephone in the Underworld (Patreon)

Okay, so this first scene in chapter 6 is a bit of an odd one, and whether it stays, gets moved around, or is ultimately cut remains unclear. I don't think I'll know until I've finished the whole chapter. Chapter 6 currently sits at 13k words and I reckon is about half done.

Enjoy! The usual caveats: this remains a work in progress . And of course, feel free to comment or leave feedback; it's always appreciated.

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One: Persephone in the Underworld

She found me in a dream.

            Although saying that, I couldn’t tell you what she looked like, if that makes any sense. How her hair was styled, or whether she had any makeup on. Almost certainly, a hint of mocking disapproval to her smile. What I recalled most clearly was her beauty, and that the way she’s dressed immediately tells me that this is a dream. So does the setting: a leafy park, green and open, with a few early autumn trees at our back. We sat at opposite ends of a bright red bench, wooden slats pitted and scored by age and weather. A late afternoon sun shines brightly in a bright blue sky, and clouds as white as blank sheets of paper drift by. We never met so openly; outside of dreams, our every meeting ran the risk of us being caught.

            “I like your dress,” I said.

            She smiles. “It’d look better on you.”

            Just like that, we’ve swapped clothes and now she’s wearing the trousers—my best pair, stolen from a shop—and clean shirt, and I’ve got the dress. I can instantly tell I’m strapped into lingerie, too, sexy stuff by the feel of it. The bra feels cool and silky against my chest and the panties do as well, tight as they thread between my ass cheeks. Stockings, too, grip my thigh and apparently, I’ve now got the curves to fill out the dress.

            “Nice.” Persephone’s eyes sparkled.

            “Thanks.” I ran my hands down over my bum and sat next to her on the bench, knees together.

            “It suits you.”

            I frowned. “You’re being mean.”

            A lilting laugh, and her hand on my shoulder. “I’m not. Honest. It looks good on you.”

            My breasts filled the top nicely, halter strap neckline revealing a hint of cleavage. My dress was a near perfect match for the sky, already deepening into richer shades of blue. Hints of red and orange tainted the horizon, a match for lips and nails. I did look good: pretty with a hint of sexiness. I smoothed down my lap, chasing imaginary wrinkles in the fabric. “It’s not a bit too… much? It’s not very manly.”

            She shrugged. “Are you happy?”

            I leaned back in the bench and stared at the sky. “Yes?” The sun was setting quickly and the air growing cold. “No.” I wrapped my arms around my torso and shiver. “I don’t know. I don’t think I am.”

            “Could you be?” Her voice sounded increasingly distant.

            The complexity of any answer to that question closed my throat. For a long time, I stared at the sun, now hanging heavy and red at the threshold of night. I wanted desperately to talk to her—even just to look at her—but felt I couldn’t without first answering. And because it was a dream, I suddenly had the answer, reading it like lines of forgotten poetry inscribed across the sky; and it was obvious—so blindingly obvious—what I needed to do. I turned to share my discovery with her.

            Tears the colour of the horizon stained her face. Whatever answer I found written in the sky was instantly lost. Not tears, but blood and it poured from her mouth and her eyes and temple and other places, too. I now recognized her face easily, and we aren’t sitting outside anymore. We’re back in the familiar room of my nightmares. This is my room, and it feels as though I’ve never left it.

            Bare light bulb, and distant throb of music. Stained mattress, single door, and an old radio. The radio played a song by Harry Longman, tinny and distorted. She sat on the edge of the bed and where her eyes had been, there’s nothing now, just blackened, dried blood and her neck is purpled with bruise, yellowing towards the centre.

            “You prefer this?” she said.

            Falling away from her, my back hit the wall.

            “I died for you,” she said, tracking my movement with empty sockets.

            I try to tell her I know, but my jaw aches. My entire body aches. Under that nice dress, my breasts felt bruised, my ass burned, and I could barely stand for the pain. There’s a terrible taste in my mouth and my legs are weak. I dropped to the floor, clutching my stomach.

            “Get the fuck up,” Persephone said.

            The door opened.

            My memory’s riddled with holes around the night of Julia’s revenge. That dream was my first clear memory, afterwards. Getting home? A total blank. There’s a receipt on my phone for a taxi, so I guess that’s how. I woke up wearing that tight pink dress, so I must have put it back on before leaving.

            Mostly, I lay in bed barely moving. From somewhere outside my room, my phone buzzed and went silent. This happened often but from far away. The sun shone brightly through cracks in the curtain, crawled up the wall, turned red, faded, and then the room was dark. There was pain, concentrated on my ass. But that too was a distant ache. Eventually, that pain faded. I heard a knock at more door. At some point I must have left the bed to take a piss, or drink water. I slept, maybe. Stared at the ceiling. The wall. In a mirror. At nothing.

            Beneath that dress, blue garter belt and stockings. I wanted them off, all of it. But the effort was too much. The visualisation of unclipping stocking or undoing hooks eluded me. Instead, I rolled over onto my back and closed my eyes. The dress remained. The stockings and belt stayed on. Their presence brought back memories.

            Bent over the sofa, ass framed in pale blue—

            I slept. For two days. I dreamed of Persephone.

            She ventured into the underworld of my dreams and dragged my sorry ass back to the waking world.

            “Get the fuck up,” she told me.

            So I did.