A Reminder Of Her

Hades

Her scent, faint beneath the sterile preservation, clawed at memories I had locked away. Laughter, tangled limbs under moonlight, whispered promises meant to last eternity.

My chest burned, a volcano of grief and longing erupting, molten emotions searing through muscle and bone. I pressed her closer, rocking gently, as if the rhythm might summon her spirit back into this fragile vessel.

But no tears came. They never did. My father had seen to that, carving out ducts he claimed were unnecessary, believing stoicism equated strength. But pain was not lesser without tears—if anything, it was sharper, a blade honed by the inability to shed it.

I ached with a fury that could not be assuaged. A yearning that tore at my soul, leaving it ragged and raw. My gaze traced the delicate line of her jaw, the curve of her eyelashes against her pale cheek. I willed her to open her eyes, to smile, to reprimand me for taking so long to find her.