Persephone's soft humming carried through the obsidian corridors, light and melodic against the somber stillness of the Underworld.
She twirled a strand of her hair idly, her steps taking her toward the gardens, where Nekyria often spent her time.
She swear, she must make Nekyria call her aunt!
One day, she'd call her mom too!
When she arrived, Persephone paused, lips curving into a smile.
Nekyria was seated cross-legged on a black marble bench, eyes wide with childlike wonder.
Before her stood a striking woman in a flowing robe of deep purple, her long bluish-violet hair cascading down her back, her sapphire eyes glimmering with a quiet confidence.
Medea.
Disciple of Hecate, one whose potential for magic eclipses anyone else in history.
When she was born, Hecate quickly found her and took her in as a disciple.
In the original myth, her tales weren't so good.
