With her task done, Proserpina gently tugged off of her gloves and half-turned away from him, the shadows already growing to take her home… but Alastor suddenly held his hand out, his fingers very nearly touching the shadow as he stood up, as if intending to follow her.

At that, Proserpina wordlessly commanded the shadows to disperse all at once before it stole his. She glared at the stormy skies, her gaze tired and accusing because she was so certain that somewhere out there in the clouds, way up high in Mount Olympus... there was a certain goddess of love laughing while watching Proserpina's current dilemma.

Then again, it could be Eros for all she knew…

"Are you deaf or are you dense?" Proserpina snapped, not bothering to look behind her, "I am not interested."

"Is this because I'm a werewolf?"

–Excerpt from Chapter IV: Touch Me Not

Descent is created by Ataraxia, an eGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.

DescenT

"It's a paradox of progress: the better things get the more anxious and desperate we all seem to feel." 


Winters clenched her jaw, "I was just thinking," she finally grounded out. "...of what might happen to you when I leave."


When, not if... so she really was only here, with him, on borrowed time–probably to indulge him or herself–he wasn't so sure if he should be appeased or be dismayed by her answer. To be fair, with Winters, he couldn't be just so sure about anything.


A dry laugh escaped him, "So you are going to leave, huh?"


"Of course," she didn't even wavered, not even an ounce of hesitation at the idea of having to be away from him.


Chapter 47: The Calm Before the Storm (part 3)