Hades Part II

The underworld was quiet before her—

a kingdom that only breathed

when the dead remembered how.

Then she arrived,

barefoot and laughing,

dragging constellations through the dust.

Madness clung to her like perfume.

Every echo bent to listen.

She spun where I stood still,

danced where even time had frozen,

and called my silence beautiful.

I should have feared her.

I had seen what light does—

it burns, it fades,

it leaves ruin where warmth used to be.

But she was different.

Her light was not clean or kind.

It was crooked, wild,

a lantern made from broken glass.

It didn’t blind. It bloomed.

When she laughed,

the dead stirred.

When she sang,

the walls wept gold.

And when she touched my hand,

I swore the dark itself exhaled.

They call her mad.

I call her mine.

For only madness could love a god of stillness

and make him feel alive.