#happy two week anniversary to the day rebecca almost got showered again

[ignisaurumprobat19-blog]

Nomad (full story)

initially published on r/nosleep

PART 1

February 12th, 2015, 6.42am

I'm awoken by the shrill sound of my alarm. Still half-asleep, I reflexively grab my Iphone and turn it on. The date immediately catches my eye. Yesterday, it's been five years since I got here. It's the first time I reach 5 years in the same place. Part of me is thrilled, but I can't help having a sense of impending doom.

Unlike most days, I manage to get out of bed before my mother comes banging on my door. Maybe that's because of the five-year anniversary, but I feel an urgency to enjoy every minute. If there are people to see, things to do, words to say, I have to do it. Fast.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this time I'll stay longer. Maybe this time I won't have to leave.

8.03am

I pick up Alice on her doorstep. She slumps into the passenger seat and greets me with a « Fuck, I'm so fucking tired ». I laugh, turn up the radio and we sing along, like every morning since September, when I finally passed my driving licence. The road to school is a quick one. I almost want to keep driving, or to tell her, right here, right now, that I love her and that she's the best friend I've ever had. But being cheesy isn't like me, and she might find it weird. If I leave, she'll think of this conversation as a troubling coincidence. If I stay, she'll think I'm not being my usual self and she'll worry, and I dont want to have to deal with this today. So I just park in front of school, and we go on with our day.

5.35pm

It's been an ordinary day. I've been on the alert all the time since yesterday, waiting for something to happen, but so far everything is fine. I might really stay this time. I try not to get my hopes up, but I can't stop myself. I'm alone in the car on the way back from school, Alice got out earlier. I don't turn on the radio this time. At every car that drives a little recklessly, at every red light, I sweat, I get anxious.

7.20pm

Mom cooked a roast for Dad and I and vegetarian lasagna for Chloe. Chloe's just got back from university for a two week break, and even if she answers the parents' questions, she seems.. Distant. Off. Not in a worrying way, though. More in a laid-back way, as if she didn't really know where she was, but it didn't matter. She smiles constantly. The food is delicious. My sister seems on cloud nine. For the first time today, I feel completely relaxed.

11.10pm

A knock on my door. « - Yup ? -Can I come in ? » Chloe's head appears in my doorway. « - Sure. »

She settles down on my bed. « - How's school ? -Not too bad. Still waiting for the answers to my uni applications. I don't think I'll get into a great one, but I'll be happy with anything as long as I can hope to become a doctor. -Hey, don't say that. Wait for the results before saying you won't get in. -Yeah. I guess. -And how's life ? How are your friends ? -Fine. I still hangout with the same ones, basically, but I met lots of Alice's friends so I hangout with them sometimes, too. -And what about boys ? -Nothing new on that side. I would have told you otherwise ! -Well... I might have something to tell you. -I knew it ! You're not pregnant are you ?! -Nooo ! But you know, Alex and I were talking last night, about our future careers and all, and we ended up talking about the future in general... Ad he said he planned to propose at the end of the year ! -Holy fuck ! But that's awesome ! -I know ! I'm so excited ! But I haven't told anyone yet, not even Mom, so please stay quiet for now. I'd rather wait until we're actually engaged before telling people. -Sure ! -But... You will be my bridesmaid, right ? I know you're not a fan of weddings but... -Of course I will ! Come on ! You're my sister ! » But as I say those words, my heart is heavy. I really hope I'll get to fulfill this promise.

Februray 13th, 2015, 8.20am

I slept through my alarm today. I run through the house : breakfast/shower/get clothed/ grab keys/ grab bag. Thankfully I don't have to pick-up Alice today, she only starts her classes at 10am. I sing along to the radio, even though I'm alone. I think about Chloe's wedding, her engagement party, her hen do. It's going to be so amazing ! Today, I want to be positive and allow myself to make plans. No matter what happens, I can't live the rest of my life avoiding any kind of plans. For fuck sake, that's not living. I'm singing (terribly) along to « You're beautiful » when the truck goes through the red light and crashes into my car.

August 22nd, 1999, 7.22am.

I'm awoken by the shrill sound of my alarm. Still half-asleep, I reflexively try to grab my Iphone on the nightstand, but my hand only encounters the void. No Iphone. No nightstand, even. That's when it hits me. The truck. The red light. Chloe. My life. It's over. As I start to tear up, my mind is bombarbed with informations. I know, without knowing how, that my name is Alexandra now. I'm no longer 18, I'm 24. I've been a secretary in my dad's office for the past two years, I live alone, I have no siblings and I have a 26 year old boyfriend but our relationship isn't great lately. I know what I look like, despite not having seen my reflection yet. I also know that I am dead.

First time I died, I didn't really understand what was going on. Mind you, I was four and a half at the time. I was sick, I knew that, but I didn't know I was going to die. Did my parents know ? Did they try to get me ready for it ? I don't know. I don't remember much of them. I remember a blonde woman and a man with steel-blue eyes and lines around the eyes. I don't even know their names. I always called them « Mom » and « Dad ». My name was Leah. I don't know the exact year, but I think it was in the 1980's. I just remember that I couldn't breathe anymore, and then I fell asleep, and then I woke up and I knew that I was Mary, that I was 14, had brown hair, and had to get up and go to my best friend's house. I had a new family, a new face, and a completely different body from the little girl's body I fell asleep in. I screamed for my mom, but the mom who came to me wasn't the blonde mom I was used to. I explained the situation as best as I could ; and Mary was up for three years of therapy. I simply couldn't act like a 14 year old teen. I was completely capable of doing well in school, as I had access to all of Mary's knowledge, but I didn't know how to behave with her family and friends. I was just a small child inside. I died in a car crash when I was 17. Or 8, depending on your viewpoint.

The next day, I was Claire, 10 years old. The transition was easier this time ; I could act like a child again. This time, I didn't tell anyone about Leah or Mary. I pretended I was Claire, and I didn't get sent to therapy. Claire died at 14, falling off her horse, in 1982.

Then I was Laura. Laura was different. Laura was 28, when I was only 13. Laura had a husband, a son, and a job as a sales rep in a big firm in NY. The year was 2022, and it was my first time using the Internet, which didn't help. Most of all, Laura was a cocaine addict. She didn't look like she used, at first glance. She was pretty, with blonde hair and a doll-like face. Sure, her eyes were bloodshot, but with a toddler and a time-consuming professionnal life, what else could you expect ? But as soon as I woke up as Laura, her body asked for its dose.

I killed Laura three months later.

The first time I committed suicide, I thought I would really die. I didn't think I would come back. I was only 13, I still believed there was a way out. I know better now. After my overdose, I woke up and I was Rebecca, 43. In 1973. The guilt was overwhelming, at first. I thought I had deprived Laura's loved ones of their wife, their mother, their daugher, their friend. Because of that, Rebecca got depressed until she died at the hands of an attacker, in a street of San Francisco, in January 1976.

But I realized, years later (or sometimes, years before ), that feeling guilty made no sense. Since the second I arrived, Laura was gone. Whether I killed myself or not, she wasn't coming back. If I stayed, I would only have spent more time pretending to be her, trying to be a wife to her husband, a mother to her son. And the 13 year old girl I was was too young to take care of a baby or to have sex with a 30 year old man. I know now that I took the right decision. It was better for them to grieve for Laura than to have their life ruined by me pretending to be her.

Nowadays, I don't hesitate before I committ suicide. I know the real people won't come back anyway, so if I'm unhappy in a life, I just go to the next one. When I decide to stay, nonetheless, it looks like I'm only alloted a limited time. On average, I get 4 years. Sometimes less, rarely more. The maximum so far has been 5 years and two days.

I shouldn't have stayed that long. I should have left before. How naïve of me to think that I could stay. Have a family, be a bridesmaid at my sister's wedding.

7.42pm

If I don't want to be late for work, I have to get up now. I get out of bed, head to the bathroom. In the mirror, Alexandra is looking back at me. I can't stand this. I scream, punch the mirror, grab a shard of glass and slit my throat.

June 7th, 1981, 6.32am

I wake up in the arms of a man. Before I can even get access to who I am, a severe nausea gets me running to the bathroom. The noise wakes the man up. As I vomit, he walks up behind me and lovingly holds my hair up. He whispers : « - You know, I got an idea for the name. What about Leah ? » Holding my big, pregnant belly, I stand up slowly. My eyes meet our reflection in the mirror above the sink : a blonde woman, a man with blue-steel eyes and lines around the eyes. I wonder how to tell him that less than 5 years from now, our daughter will die.

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PART 2

September 9th, 1985, 4.05am

I've failed.

I've failed, and now I can't sleep. Everytime I close my eyes, I see her little body going still, her chest rising and falling for the last time.

I've tried. I've been an overprotective mother. I made sure she always wore the right clothes for the weather, I breastfed her, I gave her healthy, balanced meals. But what can I do against cancer ? If only this was not the 80's. If only it was a century from now, she would have had a much better chance. But I don't get to chose that.

And now she's gone. Just like I knew she would, deep down, since she is me.

And all the last glimmers of hope, hope that I could change my fate, hope that I could make it stop, went away with her last breath.

September 9th, 1985, 10.12am

I've applied make up carefully. My blonde hair is in a strict low bun. I've ironed my black dress right before we left.

I've got to look good. After all, this is also my funeral.

My husband looks like a mess. His world shattered three days ago, and he already looks several years older. I tear up, looking at him and his devastated face.

My feelings for him have been hard to define, given that he both gave life to me and made me his wife, even though he has no idea about the first part. All I know is that I've never felt anything but pure love towards him, so it can't be bad, can it ? I didn't chose to come back here. I can't be blamed for feeling this.

I put my hand on his cheek and force him to look at me. I try to find the right words, but will there ever be anything right to say anymore ?

Our eyes are still locked when the loud screeching noise starts, and then there is nothing but pain, and then there is nothing at all.

March 21st , 2004, 10.32am

Samantha's life sounds pretty shitty, to be honest. I've only been here for an hour, but I'm not thrilled at the idea of having a husband who cheats on me, two teenagers to deal with, and crippling debt.

Not to mention that I absolutely hate her look.

Luckily, it's Sunday and the husband took the kids out to the swimming pool. A weekly occurrence, apparently. So I have another hour left to cry my heart out about everything. Everything that has just happened. Everything that happened in the past 5 years. Or everything that happened 20 years ago, if you'd rather.

It was a good life. It was a messy, disturbing situation, sure, but it was a good life.

My mother's name was Patricia, and my father's was Eric. They were good people. She was a children's book illustrator, he worked in a bank, and while they don't sound like the most assorted pair, they were crazy about each other. I had to tone that down, obviously, but it was easy to blame it on the pregnancy, the childbirth, the fatigue from raising a kid. I made sure Eric never felt unloved.

Most of all, they loved me. Oh, they loved me so much.

We were an ordinary family, but it was enough. It was more than enough.

June 5th, 2004, 3.15pm

More than two months in now, and Samantha's life is pretty shitty. But I've seen worse. She doesn't drink, smoke or use drugs. She's an housewife, and it's strangely relaxing to not have to deal with too many people during the day. Or at all, really, since her husband barely talks to her and her kids try to spend as much time as possible outside the house.

One thing that I really enjoy about Samantha, though, is that the déjà-vu feeling is gone.

It started during the pregnancy. I'd get this adrenaline rush, recognize the scene, and I knew what was going to happen in the next 10 to 30 seconds.

This has never happened, in any other life. From a young age, I've had no choice but to force myself to remember everything. When you've lived different lives, at different times, you simply cannot allow yourself to slip and say something out of character, or talk about a technology that doesn't exist yet or an event that didn't happen. It gets you into a lot of trouble. Trust me, I know.

I shrugged it off as the hormones playing tricks on my mind.

But once Leah was born, it got worse.

I had déjà-vu about once a day, and I was always correct.

It made feel... Uneasy. It didn't feel right.

And now it's gone.

April 7th, 2017, 7.12am

I haven't thought of Patricia in years. Or decades, I guess, but whatever.

I suppose it's writing all this stuff that reminded me of her. She was a good person, I suppose, but she got stuck in such a bland life. If she went somewhere when I came, too, maybe she's better now. I hope that's how it works.

Admittedly, what happened yesterday makes it obvious that I don't know much about how it works.

I was sitting on the bench, at my usual bus stop. I've been taking this bus home from work from monday to friday, at 6.18pm, for 2 years. Ever since I woke up as Sophia. I love it here. The city is nice, Sophia is young, she has cool friends and a nice flat. The time is good too. Right before it all started to break down. I'll be gone before that, of course, that's the good part of knowing history. Or the future, as they'd call it here.

The second I saw the long, overflowing yellow skirt, I was overwhelmed with this long-lost, yet familiar, déjà-vu feeling.

I knew she was going to stand in front of me, not sit, and hop in the next bus.

I could already see her long auburn hair caressing her elbows as she looked to the left to see her bus approching, standing with her back to me. Hell, I could even smell her sweet, sugary perfume.

But for the first time, I was wrong.

She walked towards me.

She stood with her back to me.

She looked to the left, saw her bus approaching.

Then she turned around to face me.

In a swift , determined motion, she grabbed my chin, lifted my face to meet my eyes.

Whispered :

« Stop telling them about it. ».

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PART 3

April 9th, 3.50pm, 2017

I'm going mad here. I'm so tired of all this.

After the girl with the yellow skirt ordered me to stop talking about it, I went crazy. I grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her, yelling. I don't even know what I was saying. It was like decades of anger and pain poured out of my body. People interfered to protect her, and she got away. Before I knew, I was on the bench again and I was sobbing uncontrollably. I'm so mad at myself ! I could have gotten answers, or at least a clue on what's happening.

There were colleagues around, and they saw everything. One of them got on the next bus with me and got me home safe. She even offered to cook me dinner and stay for a bit, since I was in such a bad state. I refused. I didn't trust myself to control my words.

I got called into my boss' office the next day, and I pretended the girl was someone an ex-boyfriend cheated on me with and that I lost my temper when she provoked me.

He seemed to believe it, but he looked worried about me. Kept telling me his door was open if I needed to talk.  People at work are definitely looking at me differently now.

I hate that they see me that way. I am not a violent person. I've only been violent when I had to.  Violence can be necessary, but a guy cheating on me is not a valid reason to use violence. Why would it matter to me, anyway ? All of my relationships are, by essence, short ones. I can't afford to get too attached to someone.

When I arrived at the office this morning, there was a letter for me in the mail. The secretary said it wasn't sent, it was brought. By a man, in their thirties, black hair, pretty average. That's all she could remember about him when I pressed her for details.

The letter was handwritten, black ink on a simple white sheet of paper.

The ink ran a little.

It said :

«You are not one of them, but you need to learn.

If they know, you can't learn.

If you can't learn, it will only take longer.

Be wise, as it is your nature.

Trust me, cause we are One. »

It was signed by a single letter : *« H »*.

In all my lives, I don't remember being close to a man whose name started with « H ». As I said, I haven't had many lovers. Partly because I've been a kid or a teenager for quite a long time, and also a married woman a few times, and partly because when I was a single adult, being in a serious relationship was too much trouble. I've had flings, of course, but I try not to get too involved. Living with someone when the relationship didn't preexisted my arrival is tricky. I can't be fully myself, but there's no established routine that I can rely on, either. Everything has to be created from scratch, and for someone like me, it can be dangerous to open up too much.

Not to mention the fact that when I ineluctably leaves, I'd rather have as few people as possible to mourn me.

But now that I think about it, if I met him in another life, maybe I knew him under another identity. Maybe « H » is only his name here and now. That would mean he's like me, that would mean I'm not alone.

I don't know if that's a relief or one more reason to worry.

He seems to know a lot more than I do : if he is like me, then why am I not as informed as he is ? Are there more people like us ? What do they want from me ? What am I supposed to learn ?

Why did they let me suffer so much, for decades, without ever telling me that I wasn't completely alone ?

Where were they when I was Alicia, when I cut her 15 year old wrists so that the nightly rapes she endured stopped ?

Where were they when I was  Brooke, when every second of the life I lived was spent fighting because there's no other way for a homeless woman to survive in the streets of a devasted New York ?

Where were they when I was Catherine and died in a pool of my own blood, holding the corpse of my lifeless newborn ?

Where were they when I was Amelia and died in a car crash that killed a whole family in the other car, as well as my own kid in the backseat ?

Where were they when I went from being 31 to being 15 again, and lost once again every bit of a life I had built ?

Where were they when I was my own mother and had to watch myself die ?

If they knew and did nothing, then I think I know all I need to know about them. I don't want to play a part in whatever they're doing. I don't care if I'm an aberration of nature or the result of a freak experiment. I don't want to serve anyone. I don't want to « learn ».

April 9th, 5.01pm, 2017

Ok, ok. I could be freaking out over nothing. He could be someone who works in the building, who read my posts and guessed my identity. Maybe he's pulling a prank on me ?

April 10th, 10.06am, 2017

Something happened on the bus to work.

I was hit with a déjà-vu so intense my head started to throb. She wasn't the girl with the yellow skirt, but someone much younger. 15-ish ? Curly black hair, dark brown eyes, freckles, rather cute, really. I had never met her, but I *knew* her.

I didn't see anything, this time. The déjà-vu wasn't about a moment, it was about *her*.

When she spoke, her tone was so low I could barely pick up what she said.

« Don't ask me anything. I can't answer. But please stop posting. You're not ready yet. You just have to learn. If you don't know yet, then you still have to learn. You're only making this more difficult for yourself. If only you stopped fighting, you could be ready so soon. »

Her tone was almost pleading. She kept her glaze ahead while talking. After a few seconds of silence, she finally turned to look at me.

« I miss you. »

My tears started falling down, years of them, a waterfall on my cheeks and neck.

« You can't do that, you can't, you can't just come and tell me to stop asking questions and to stop talking and to just shut up, you can't ! I'm not a puppet, I'm not your toy, please stop it, I'd do whatever it takes, please, please, I can't take it anymore, you forced me to be my own mother, please, please, please... »

People were starting to give me weird looks, but she wasn't even listening anymore. The bus had come to an halt, she was already getting up.

I grabbed her wrist desperately. She shook herself free and bended down so that her face was close to mine. Her face expressed equal parts anger and pain.

«  Stop whining, Parthenos. You never had a mother».

And with that, she was gone.

I've looked up Parthenos. It means « virgin » in Greek. I'm not a virgin, I've never set foot in Greece, and as far I know, I've never been someone who had greek origins. If she knows as much about me as she seems to, she should know that.

As much as it scares me to admit it, though, that word feels familiar.

April 10th, 1.04pm, 2017

I know who she is. I don't know how, but I know who she is.

When I was Alicia, I didn't have many friends. I was a lonely kid who tried to avoid contact with others as much as I could. I didn't trust anyone, and I didn't want anyone to know what was going on at home.

I could have killed him. I could have killed my stepdad. Before I was Alicia, I was Meryl. Meryl knew all about killing people. She didn't like it, and it wasn't nice being Meryl, but she had to. That's why I stayed for as long as I could. People needed her. The job had to be done.

So yes, I could have killed him. But I didn't. I didn't want to get sent to jail or to a psych ward. When I decided to end it, I just killed myself instead.

But while I was Alicia, there was one person I trusted. Her name was Victoria. She had long, shiny blond hair and a seemingly perfect life, yet she chose, for some reason, to hang out with the school weirdo. I was so grateful for her.

I remember that once, we were watching tv in her living room when I saw myself smiling on a picture on the wall. Myself, as Rebecca. I knew it was before I arrived in Rebecca's body : I had memories of this, but they were not firsthand memories.

When I asked Victoria about the woman in the picture, she said it was her grandmother. That gave me chills.

And now, that girl on the bus. I know she's Victoria.

April 10th, 3.42pm, 2017

I got another letter at work. Brought by the same man, according to the secretary. She paid more attention to him this time : definitely in his thirties, black straight hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, dressed smart in a dark blue suit. I still have no idea who he is.

I'm scared to open the letter.

April 10th, 3.55pm, 2017

Black ink on a simple sheet of white paper.

« Let's get coffee tomorrow, my dear niece.

8am, Starbucks on Crowne St.

Be careful who you talk to.

H. ».

---------------------------------

PART 4 (FINAL)

April 11th, 2017, 7.56am

He's already sitting at a table when I walk into the coffeeshop. Black suit, black shirt, black hair, and those striking blue eyes. He looks about 32, maybe 33, definitely not older than 34.

Sophia is 27. If he really is my uncle, then he definitely wasn't talking about this life.  

He notices me and waves, and as I meet his eyes, my head starts to throb. Just like when I saw that girl on the bus. Victoria, or whatever she's called now.

I walk to his table and sit in front of him.

Neither of us say a word.

Then he starts smiling. Bigger, and bigger, and bigger. He doesn't look threatening though, he looks.. Entertained. That pisses me off so much.  

« -Having fun, eh ? You and your friends must be having a blast, messing up with my life ! What are you ? Scientists ? Did you make your little freak experiment with me ? »  

He shakes his head, still smiling.  

« A cult, then ? »  

That makes him chuckle.  

« Oh no, no. We're definitely not worshipping anyone. » He laughs even harder at that.  

« Calm down. I'm not responsible for what's happening to you, ok ? It just... Happened. You needed it.».

« It just happened ?! That's your explanation ? I just happened to have my life fucking cursed ? »  

He sighs and takes his head in his hands.  

« Why do you always have to be so dramatic ? I'm trying my best here, could you at least try ? »  

« Try ? What am I supposed to do ? »

« Just... Remember! » He looks exsperated. « I get it, you needed it, blah blah blah, but you don't have time anymore, and now Héra found you, and... » He stops mid-sentence, shoots me an almost frightened look : « Ah, never mind. »

Hera. I feel a wave of panic through my whole body. For a few seconds, I'm confused and none of this makes sense. All I feel is fear, fear, fear, and I cannot form a coherent thought.  

Then it hits me.  

Long, flowing skirt. Auburn hair. The girl from the bus stop.  

Not too different from her real form.

I knew Hera before I was Sophia. Before I was Alicia, Meryl,  Brooke, Ciara, Jane, Alisha, Heidi, Samantha, Patricia, Amelia, Catherine, Cindy, Priyanka, Mary, Rebecca, Laura... Before I was Leah.  

Before this place was unhabited.  

Before humans were created.

I look at my uncle. I still see his current form, but I also see every one of his appearances since the last time I saw him.  

Unlike me, he didn't have to be different people. He always looks more or less as he does now, except he alters his style to fit in whatever time period he's in.  

Of course, only our kind can see him as he really is. This is no more than a disguise, a way to walk among you. But unlike some of us, he doesn't do it to manipulate you or to gain power. He genuinely always liked you, ever since I gave you life. He said you were fascinating. I didn't understand why, but I do now. I do.  

He looks alarmed when he sees that I'm tearing up.  

I choke on my own tears : « Oh, Dis... »  

I've always called him by this nickname, even though he hated it. *Mostly* because he hated it, and it was fun to annoy him.  

I can see relief flowing over his face. A tear rolls on his tanned, smooth cheek, and he grabs my hand :  

« About time. We need you. »  

« Hestia came to talk to me on the bus yesterday. Is she ok ? »

« She is. She always kept an eye on you. »  

I'm crying now. The kind of sobs that leave you out of breath, a mess of snot and tears and mascara rivers.  

I squeeze back Hades' hand and let myself break down.  

I'm back.

I needed to learn. It's both a blessing and a curse to be the incarnation of Wisdom and War. Violence is a part of me, but resorting to it have always felt like failing.

As humans multiplied, violence and war were everywhere. I did all I could, but your wars drained me.  

By becoming too involved in your conflicts, I ended up forgetting my nature.

I wanted to end you, wipe you off, so we could have some peace. But some of my kind wouldn't let that happen. They have different plans for you.

Since I couldn't end you, I had to find another way. I didn't understand you, and there were so many of you. I couldn't answer your calls. I needed to learn. I needed to experience the spectrum of human emotions. So I became one of you.

What I've learned is that you are, indeed, insignificant. Earth would be a more peaceful place without you.  

You can kill, rape, torture, bully, kidnap, mutilate, harass, enslave...  

In other words, you are just like us.

But you are also capable of love. I've seen that. I've felt that.

Learning time is over, now. Dark times are ahead.  

More wars are coming. Some of us are going to make sure they happen.

But I'll be there, humans.

I am Athena Parthenos.  

I am Athena Nikè.  

I am Athena Pallas, daughter of Zeus, niece of Hera, Hades, Hestia, Demeter and Poseidon, granddaughter of Chronos and Rhea, great-grand daughter of Gaia and Uranus.

I never had a mother, but I know motherly love.  

I can't be hurt by human weapons, but I know the pain of blades and fists.  

I can't get sick, but I know the misery of illness.  

I don't age, but I know the affliction of old age.  

I can't be killed, but I know what death feels like.

I am ready. I hope you are too.

#writers #writers on tumblr #my writing #writers of horror #greek mythology #hades #hera #ignisaurumprobat19 #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit