Persephone Incarnate [Wattpad Prize 2014] | ✔️

{29} Sophie

We ran past the group, still talking in the center of the room. None of them gave us a second glance, but when I looked back, I swore I saw Anna smile.

And then we were just flying through the hallways. Each wall blurred into one another, and there was no difference between a painting and the wallpaper. It was all just colors – just black and blue and some purple, and the occasional pinpoint of warm light that was swallowed up almost as quickly as I saw it. Alexander seemed to know where he was going, and we were weaving around and through turns, and we’d go straight for what seemed like miles at a time.

I kept on waiting for my legs to get tired, to complain because they were doing more running that I’d probably ever done in the last two or three years. But it never came. The feeling like I’d gotten a rope burn inside my calves never came.

I wasn’t fueled by adrenaline, I wasn’t invincible – but I was running like I was. I didn’t have time to puzzle it out because we swerved around and make a sharp right. Any thoughts I could’ve had were thrown out almost as violently as the way we came to a stop suddenly, in front of the Glass Garden.

A few evening primroses snaked up the glass and in the dimness of the palace, they seemed to radiate a soft yellow glow, like stars. The stars of the Underworld, I thought wonderingly.

“It’s…really pretty,” Alexander said grudgingly. “For some palace thousands of feet under the surface, it’s really pretty.”

I didn’t say anything, and pulled him with me as I walked into the garden. Everything was much the same as it had been the last time I’d seen it, which, if I honestly thought about it, made sense, since it had only happened yesterday. My fingers brushed against the petal of a narcissus, and without thinking, I caressed its bulb and gently yanked at it. It came off with a barely audible swip and absentmindedly started to braid it into my hair.

Alexander placed his arm around my back and started to maneuver us through the garden, past tall hedges and clusters of passionflowers and trees, hung to the brim with Spanish moss. The last time I came here, they had escaped my notice, since I was too intent on trying to find the source of the music.

It had been beautiful – its haunting yet enchanting melody still lingered and curled around in my head, like tiny wisps of thoughts that were hugging me. It was sound that only Morgan could make – because I knew how talented he had been, and still was. He made art, not just noise.

My eyes drifted to the small courtyard that was outside the garden, barely visible through the trees and vines blocking the way. But in my mind, I still saw the way he stood, with the cello that was black as night and glossy as frozen ice. I saw the two of us, playing Persephone’s Song, fingers flying, bows slicing through the air.

And then I saw the Orchestra room, back at school. The chairs, the lazy afternoon sunlight filtering in, the piano that was always a little out of tune, everybody talking and goofing around, someone playing an F natural when they should’ve been playing a sharp. But in the corner, I saw a girl, with long straight hair, blonde with streaks of brown. Sitting on the ground with her legs propped up on a chair, her mouth moving to the sheet of music in front of her. Beside her, a boy, with mostly tame, curly brown hair, bowing away on a cello, eyes focused on the stand in front of him. But occasionally, he would turn, and a look would slip into his eyes. I couldn’t read it, but it was special, I knew. They were only for the girl sitting next to him.

And with a gasp, I realized that that was Morgan. And that was me. Just as we usually were. Just as we had been. And I would miss that, so, so terribly. I would miss talking to him and seeing him fiddle around with his cello or his tablet and the look he got on his face when he was amused or excited.