Persephone's grip was unyielding as she yanked Damian by the wrists, pulling him up the shadowed staircase. Her fingers dug into his skin, the chill of her touch seeping through his clothes. She dragged him with ease, as though he weighed nothing, before forcefully pushing him onto the enormous bed that seemed to swallow him whole.
Damian scrambled, pushing himself backward, heart pounding in his chest. "Wait, wait! What is this?!" His voice cracked, fear gnawing at him, but Persephone paid him no mind.
She followed him, swiftly sitting next to him, her golden eyes fixed on him with unsettling stillness. "Okay, what do we do next?"
Damian's breath caught in his throat. He stared at her, wide-eyed. "Huh?"
She tilted her head, her gaze deepening in an unsettling way. "You're the man of passion, are you not? Teach me, then," she purred, her black-feathered wings trembling as though they were alive.
Damian, trembling, thought, What the hell is wrong with her?
Her unblinking stare pierced through him, and her voice, devoid of warmth, made his skin crawl. "I'm waiting."
Sweat dripped from Damian's brow as he swallowed, struggling to maintain some semblance of composure. "Uh... okay. So... w-what is it you want to know about love?"
She continued to gaze at him, her expression cold and calculating. "What I want to know," she echoed, her voice carrying an eerie curiosity.
Damian nodded quickly, sweat beading on his brow. "Yeah, let's start with what you want to know. Do you have any… questions?"
But she didn't speak. She didn't blink. Her eyes locked onto his, relentless, probing.
Damian shifted uncomfortably, trying to break the silence. "O-okay, let's—"
Her voice interrupted, flat and devoid of emotion. "Why? Why do mortals love each other? Why do they sacrifice themselves for one another? Why do they harm the ones they claim to love? I've seen it all—endless contradictions. They twist themselves in agony, sometimes killing their beloved, sometimes willing to die for them. I've experimented countless times, and each mortal has given me a different answer, shown me a different facet of this thing they call 'love.' So I ask you, what does it mean to love?"
Damian's throat tightened. Sweat ran cold down his back, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. He had no idea what to say, but he knew he had to say something. Anything.
He swallowed, forcing the words out in a nervous stammer. "L-love is a feeling someone gets for another… it makes them care for them… y'know, they think about them, want to protect them… they get nervous when they talk, their hearts beat fast… all that fluffy stuff… they go on dates… um…"
He trailed off, desperately trying to make sense, but only stumbling over his words, searching for something that might satisfy her insatiable inquiry.
As he babbled, Persephone's hand slowly descended onto his chest, gently but firmly pressing him back onto the bed.
Confused and unsettled, Damian laughed nervously. "W-what are we doing now?"
She leaned in, her face inches from his, her golden eyes staring into his own with unsettling intensity. Her finger traced the onyx scar on his neck, feeling the sweat that coated his skin. "You're nervous. I can feel your heart beating faster. Does that mean you're in love with me?"
Damian froze, his breath hitching. He couldn't speak. His entire body screamed at him to escape, but the weight of her gaze paralyzed him. The answer slipped out of him in a barely audible whisper.
"Yes." A lie.
Her smile, icy and knowing, curled at the edges of her lips. Without warning, she kissed him. Her lips were cold, like ice, and tasted faintly of iron. The kiss lingered for a moment before she pulled away, her expression unnervingly cheerful.
"You've received a kiss from the woman you love. You should feel delighted, my slave."
"I've learned that this is one of the many ways to show love in my experiments."
Her eyes didn't leave his. "So… how do you feel?"
Damian's breath quickened, and panic surged through him. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to flee, but he was trapped. A slave, bound to her in ways he couldn't understand.
Desperate, he sat up, trying to mimic her upbeat tone, though his voice cracked. "I-it was amazing. Probably top five on the kissing ladder… but, you're moving too fast. When mortals start a relationship, they first need to get to know one another."
She tilted her head unnaturally, studying him as though she hadn't comprehended the words. "Really?"
Damian nodded, his throat tight. "Yes. Even mortals don't feel love for someone until they know them better. That's how love grows."
Her golden eyes lit up, her curiosity piqued. "Okay!"
Without warning, she sprang to her feet, her wings flaring behind her as she snapped her fingers.Her leather boots vanished as though they were never there, and she crossed her arms, amplifying the presence of her already commanding figure.
"I am the queen of rot, the immortal Witch of Famine—Persephone Von Hellebore!" she announced with theatrical flair, her voice echoing like the toll of a bell.
Damian blinked, his mind racing. 'Does she have to do that every time she introduces herself?'
He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I'm Damian Gray. No special titles."
Her golden eyes flicked to him with faint amusement. "Damian? A fitting name for a slave, I must say."
Damian's lips twitched, but he managed a flat, "Thank you."
Persephone reclined onto the bed, her hair spilling like a pool of white and black silk, her wings fanning out around her. She stared at him with an unnerving calm. "So, what's next?"
But before Damian could answer, the massive door to the room swung open with a sudden, sharp crash. Entering was a peculiar, childlike maid, her pale face masked by a single, oversized, stitched-up eye. She bowed elegantly, her voice soft but firm.
"Dinner is ready, Ms. Persephone, Mr. Gray."
Persephone's wings fluttered in excitement, her gaze snapping to Damian. "Ah, dinner. I almost forgot." She stood up quickly, then turned to him. "Let's go."
Damian, feeling the weight of her words like a heavy, unseen chain, followed her out of the room. As they made their way down the staircase and into the kitchen, Damian couldn't shake the thought'—How did that maid know my name? Had she been listening in?'
When they entered the kitchen, the spread before him almost made him lose his composure entirely. The smell alone was enough to make his stomach churn. He cursed inwardly, his mind racing. 'What the hell have I gotten myself into?'