Persephone's Point of View
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I mean, honestly, what did she expect to happen? Did Lust-Rhae Python, that so-called Archangel Queen, truly think that the Dragon Queen would just stand there and let Wrath-Grey Zade Cervenka murder Dad in cold blood? Did she really believe she'd just watch, frozen in place, as her mate—_her mate_—was killed before her eyes? Not a damn chance. They were bonded, something deeper, stronger, and infinitely more real than that shallow, power-hungry bitch could ever begin to understand. So, of course, Mom killed him. What other choice did she have? The Demon King practically begged for it the moment he had the audacity to come for Dad. He sealed his own fate the instant he made that decision.
But no. That wasn't enough for Lust-Rhae. No, she couldn't let it go. She couldn't accept the consequences of her husband's actions. She couldn't face the undeniable truth that her precious King of Demons wasn't invincible, wasn't untouchable. So what did she do? She retaliated. She waited in the shadows, playing the coward, biding her time until the perfect moment. She waited until Dad was gone, out of the picture, unable to protect us, and then she struck. She killed Mom.
And she didn't just kill her quickly, efficiently, or with some kind of quiet precision. No, Lust-Rhae had to make a statement. She made sure I was there. She made sure I was forced to witness every moment, every horrifying second of it, so that the image would sear itself into my mind. She ensured that the memory of it would haunt me for the rest of my life. She made sure I felt every ounce of helplessness, every shred of agony, as I watched the woman I loved more than anything in this world—my mother—be torn away from me in the cruelest way possible.
And now, after all that, I'm supposed to just tolerate her twin brats, Pride-Niklaus and Vain-Dove? I'm supposed to sit here, pretend everything is fine, and act like they're not walking, talking reminders of everything that was taken from us? You think that's fair? You think I'm supposed to just look the other way? No. No, I can't do that. The only thing I want when I see them is to destroy them. I want to take them down one by one. I want to make Lust-Rhae suffer by taking them first. I want her to feel the pain she inflicted on me, to understand what it's like to lose everything. To lose it all in the most irreversible way possible.
"...Sephone?"
The sound of my name snapped me out of the memory, though the rage still simmered beneath my skin, a constant reminder of the nightmare I'd just relived. I blinked hard, trying to push the image from my mind, but it was there, always lurking. My jaw tightened as I struggled to regain control, my fists clenching so tightly that my nails dug into the palms of my hands. The anger rose within me, and I cursed under my breath, frustrated by how easily my emotions could spiral out of control. My ADHD didn't help. It never did. It was a constant weight, always dragging me down, making it harder to focus, harder to center myself. My thoughts were always in chaos, always jumping from one thing to the next.
"My mind is nebulous," I muttered sharply to myself, forcing my breathing to steady. "Repeat what you just said. Again."
Atlas rolled his eyes, his dramatic flair immediately grating on my nerves. "A thank-you would be nice, Dora," he drawled, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You know, we're only standing here, waiting for the Crowned Princess of the Drakyre to grace us with her attention."
I shot him a glare that was nothing short of lethal, but he didn't stop. He never did.
"Yeah, yeah, we all know you're the big deal around here," he continued, smirking as if he knew exactly how to irritate me. "The firstborn of the Drakyre line, the future queen of a united kingdom of dragons and vampires. We get it. But guess what? You've still got three years to go before the Coronation. So you don't need to act like you're already wearing the damn crown."
"I'm technically the queen already," I shot back, arching an eyebrow in mock amusement as I straightened my posture, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "Mom's not here anymore. That means the responsibilities fall to me, whether you like it or not. And stop calling me Dora. You know I hate it."
The nickname made my blood run cold. It was derived from my middle name, Callidora, but every time he used it, all I could think of was that insufferable animated character. I'd rather be called Calli—or better yet, Persephone—than Dora. Anything but that.
"Egocentric much?" Apollo piped up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He was just as bad as Atlas when it came to pushing my buttons. He never stopped, and he never seemed to care how close he came to crossing the line. "Anyway," he continued, clearly enjoying himself, "we were just asking if you're excited to see your dear Pride-Niklaus again, Persephone."
The mention of that name froze me in place. My entire body tensed, and my eyes narrowed with a fiery intensity that could have burned through stone. My stomach dropped, and the rage—so carefully contained—began to rise again. My expression hardened, becoming a mask of cold fury. "Will you ever stop with those jokes?" I hissed, my voice low, dangerous. "Do you seriously not remember what his parents did? His bitch of a mother killed our mom. His father tried to kill our dad. And you think that's funny?"
Atlas crossed his arms, an impatient sigh escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes at me. "It's an even loss, Persephone," he said flatly, as though that made any sense at all. "They lost their father too. We all lost someone. That's just the way things are."
"And besides," Apollo added, his voice almost teasing, "you used to love him."
My stomach twisted painfully, and the disgust rose up so fast that I could barely keep it down. "I was ten," I spat, the words venomous, sharp as daggers. "It's been almost ten years since then. And it wasn't love. It was a stupid crush. A childish, meaningless crush that died a long time ago. All that's left now is pure disgust. Disgust for him. Disgust for his sister. Disgust for their entire bloodline."
Atlas let out a long, frustrated sigh and threw his hands up in defeat. "It's been a decade, Persephone," he said exasperatedly. "Don't you think it's time to let it go?"
"You shouldn't hang on to revenge," Apollo added, his tone tinged with something that might have been disappointment. "It's not healthy."
A bitter laugh bubbled up from deep within my chest. It was cold, sharp, and it cut through the air like a blade. "I'm the oldest," I said, my voice hard and unwavering. "That means I get to decide what I hang on to and what I let go of. And if you're not here to help me get what I want, then stay the hell out of my way. I don't need your lectures. I don't need your opinions. What I need is for you to back off."
I turned away from them, my hand lifting to summon a portal with a single flick of my wrist. The energy swirled and pulsed with a soft glow, a sign of the magic bending to my will. I stepped toward it, the pull of the portal almost comforting, almost like a lifeline.
"If you actually knew me," I said quietly, my voice laced with bitterness, "you'd know that this revenge is the only thing keeping me going. It's all I have left. And if you cared about me at all, you wouldn't ask me to let it go."
"Persephone, wait!"
I didn't wait. I didn't hesitate for even a second. With one final step, I entered the portal, letting it close behind me with a finality that left no room for argument. No room for doubt.