Branded
Rihanna
“I like your tattoo,” a soft voice murmurs.
Rihanna turns, her practically glowing golden hair whipping across sharp bronzed cheekbones. The little girl is no older than five, dark hair tossed into a rushed ponytail and a stained dress hanging too large on her petite frame. Like most mothers in modern day, hers is paying no attention to who her daughter speaks to. And though she’s getting no vibe from the girl, no inkling that the child is one of her kind, Rihanna still searches every bare inch of her skin until the girls mother finally pulls her away.
When she’s alone she feels deflated, disappointed. It’s been years since she’s met someone of her kind. Heaving a sigh she plops into an empty seat, sipping her coffee and staring out the window, seeing nothing and everything. Her fingers toy with the necklace draped across her collarbone as her lashes flutter shut, brushing softly against her skin.
She remembers things in quick succession; the trading of her life, her soul. She remembers being forcefully escorted down, down, down into the underworld; the hot suffocating atmosphere had made her weep. A heavy presence had approached them, a group of about twenty, and he smelled like death and destruction.
She remembers the sickly gleeful smile spread across his face, the way he studied each and every one of them individually. He took special notice of her, naturally. She remembers the way his voice burrowed into her ear canals like sharp, rusted nails.
“Ah, so Zeus traded his own blood and kin?”
The rest of them hated her then, knowing she ranked higher up than them in some twisted way. It was bad enough they got traded, damned, but to know that Zeus's daughter was there as well set them off their rockers. Only the bravest of the brave, the best of the best, got damned to Hades, reincarnated into a human, branded with a winged tattoo. It helped none in her favor that Hades is her uncle, though the term is used loosely.
They had been sent to help Hades with the war going on in the human world, the battle between the Americans and Koreans. It was lengthy, dirty and bloody; but they finally succeeded in helping America secure peace in their country again.
But that was their downfall, when it all went bad. Unbeknownst to them they had been tested and tried; their fates decided and sealed in little golden envelopes. Her father, Zeus, had sent them to Hades to see what kind of willpower they possessed. If they helped in the war, the destruction, and the blood – they were to remain on earth until a century of good was done. For each bad they did they got another year on earth.
If they hadn’t helped, refused to follow beneath Hades rule, they would have been killed and sent back to the clouds, the Gods. Unfortunately for Rihanna, she got no special treatment. She was dubbed a fallen one like the rest.
Fortunately for her she fell in California, the state of the tanned and beautiful, rich and famous.
Rihanna turns, her practically glowing golden hair whipping across sharp bronzed cheekbones. The little girl is no older than five, dark hair tossed into a rushed ponytail and a stained dress hanging too large on her petite frame. Like most mothers in modern day, hers is paying no attention to who her daughter speaks to. And though she’s getting no vibe from the girl, no inkling that the child is one of her kind, Rihanna still searches every bare inch of her skin until the girls mother finally pulls her away.
When she’s alone she feels deflated, disappointed. It’s been years since she’s met someone of her kind. Heaving a sigh she plops into an empty seat, sipping her coffee and staring out the window, seeing nothing and everything. Her fingers toy with the necklace draped across her collarbone as her lashes flutter shut, brushing softly against her skin.
She remembers things in quick succession; the trading of her life, her soul. She remembers being forcefully escorted down, down, down into the underworld; the hot suffocating atmosphere had made her weep. A heavy presence had approached them, a group of about twenty, and he smelled like death and destruction.
She remembers the sickly gleeful smile spread across his face, the way he studied each and every one of them individually. He took special notice of her, naturally. She remembers the way his voice burrowed into her ear canals like sharp, rusted nails.
“Ah, so Zeus traded his own blood and kin?”
The rest of them hated her then, knowing she ranked higher up than them in some twisted way. It was bad enough they got traded, damned, but to know that Zeus's daughter was there as well set them off their rockers. Only the bravest of the brave, the best of the best, got damned to Hades, reincarnated into a human, branded with a winged tattoo. It helped none in her favor that Hades is her uncle, though the term is used loosely.
They had been sent to help Hades with the war going on in the human world, the battle between the Americans and Koreans. It was lengthy, dirty and bloody; but they finally succeeded in helping America secure peace in their country again.
But that was their downfall, when it all went bad. Unbeknownst to them they had been tested and tried; their fates decided and sealed in little golden envelopes. Her father, Zeus, had sent them to Hades to see what kind of willpower they possessed. If they helped in the war, the destruction, and the blood – they were to remain on earth until a century of good was done. For each bad they did they got another year on earth.
If they hadn’t helped, refused to follow beneath Hades rule, they would have been killed and sent back to the clouds, the Gods. Unfortunately for Rihanna, she got no special treatment. She was dubbed a fallen one like the rest.
Fortunately for her she fell in California, the state of the tanned and beautiful, rich and famous.