PilotingSRN

@pilotingsrn.bsky.social

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Empowering my dream of becoming a published author through positivity, commitment and life's challenges. Dark Fantasy, Romance, Mythology & Tragedy

HERE though. This is a phenomenal line and scene. We DON'T get a defined limit for her power. We just get the understanding that with so many little bugs, she can't A.) make a completely enclosing barrier, B.) simply swat all the flies away, and C.) We get to see a glimpse into Haley's character. She doesn't panic, she immediately prioritizes the mission, the goal, and success in the most precise way she can think to. This is pure diegetic mechanics explanations in the way that literally every fantasy book should do, in my opinion. These lines/this scene are FANTASTIC.
Only someone desperate—or a fool—would choose to walk among the condemned. Haley considered herself both. Plumes of grey spores from the teleportation spell faded into the dark fog, giving full view of Hades’ Lobby. Her bare feet hovered over sand, while outstretched for miles were shaggy buildings and dusty roads ill-lit by torches on top poles. In the distance, faded, fiery light danced on the horizon. She suspected it was the Phlegethon River, where the shrieking of tortured souls carried in the stagnant, brisk air of the Underworld.
“Yeah,” Haley looked at the orange light bleeding through the patio doors. “Hopefully they’re the last ghosts from the past.” “Indeed,” Diarmuid inclined toward the watch. Exhaustion marked itself across the Lady's face, and she earned undisturbed respite. “Shall I take this so you might rest?” Haley slipped the watch off and handed it to him. “I’d like that,” she said, helping the Knight switch the device to vibrate. They agreed he would wake her if something urgent arose. Diarmuid watched the final obstacle course, showcasing talented opponents navigating its brutal design. Their room was peaceful after, and each glance at the lady reassured him. Her rest remained undisturbed, her breath steady beneath the covers.
“Can I ask, um, a personal question?” “You may.” “What happened to your original body?” Diarmuid shifted in his seat. Personal indeed. “Aphrodite stole and extirpated it.” Haley’s spoon clattered into the bowl. “Wh-what?” His eyes were downcast, unsure why he was sharing this with her. Diarmuid’s hand rose to his chest to ease the curse’s throb. “It was blasphemy against Zeus, or something akin. I had been violated, cursed, then she desecrated my remains. I’m ashamed to confess, my sanity spiraled. Beyond that, I know no more with certainty.”
Arriving at their steel door, Lady Haley keyed the code from the watch. Diarmuid pushed it open, uncertain his conjectures regarding his hotel stay. His past treatment taught him not to expect comfort, but the suite subverted any expectations. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead and expensive carpet transitioned to marble tile in the lavatories. For a moment, you would think him royalty. Sunlight glinted through parted plum curtains and slid the glass doors to the balcony. The room provided a dusky loveseat to the right of the terrace doors. Against the sidewall stood an eight drawer dresser he couldn't imagine filling. To his left hung a massive television, and in its adjoining corner, was the entrance to a grand bathroom. His stay here would be sublime without disturbances. Contrastingly, nothing outshone Lady Haley’s splendor. She entered with a soft gasp of wonder, coasting to the center as if in a glorious dream. The chandelier’s light caught in the blue of her eyes that took in the opulence around her. Her marveling froze on the lavish, oversized bed, her expression dimming to one of melancholy as she approached it. Tentatively, her fingertips grazed over the sheets, as if testing if this was reality. “How long has it been since I…” Her whisper trembled with longing, haunted by whatever ghosts this bed invoked. Diarmuid watched, heart heavy. Only now, in this exemplary place, did he truly see the hardship etched in her appearance. In the wistful way she carried herself.
Limited on options, Diarmuid laid back on the tall board. Belts latched across his wrists pinning them at his sides. Another cinched around his calves, locking his feet together. His eyes slid to the Lady, who investigated the slow-turning wood.
He rebuked himself for their closeness, for touching her in this manner, longing to trace the lips speaking such grace. He wouldn’t, of course. Not when questioning if this true affection, or gratitude for someone unbewitched by his mole. Diarmuid dared not name it anything more, and yet… Tightness gathered in his chest, strangely favorable. Moments like this, her body laid across him, relaxed, under his gentle caress were immeasurable. To deny his spirit feeling in its final days invited regrets that’d haunt his soul.
Grief filled the expansion of his mind. Fionn’s hesitance hung over him like a storm, trailing him in death. Aengus informed him what transpired after, scattering fragments of his soul. He wept for his daughter, felled in her quest for vengeance. For his sons who marched to their deaths in the battle of Gabhra. Questioned the authenticity of love after the mole’s influence fizzled away and Grainne wed the man who orchestrated his demise. Aphrodite’s arrival exhumed the sorrows lost in the wind, raising his spirit from its slumber. She reforged his honor into hatred that burned to find Fionn and avenge the blood buried in his absence. Was that ambition truly misguided or merely the echo of impetuosity? Perchance the act of letting go would diffuse the hollowness. Redemption remaining unachievable unless he offered what he withheld in the chasm of despair. Forgiveness.
“According to this,” Lady Haley said, navigating the watch for their room number, “Based on our ranking in the…race, our room is on floor 56.” She switched to the directory, pinching and zooming the map. Two levels were dedicated to clothing stores, one level a library, three food courts, and shared rooms. “It’s through elevator C.” “We share rooms?” Diarmuid asked, questioning his sanity for the millionth time when she quietly confirmed. What was this loop his existence kept spinning—always trapped with a woman wielding him for their desires? Yes, he’d chosen (somewhat) to partner with her, but he hadn’t considered living arrangements. In his defense, this venue’s grandeur strung his hopes high that an event hosting so many would award them separate quarters. Even leveling their heights, pairing the condemned dead with the living could be disastrous. What care did the panel take knowing the deceased longed for life? Their nefarious bodies craved to absorb the warmth they lacked. For some, that hunger twisted into obsessions that caused haunting and possessions. In worse cases, they drained the souls of the living, for a fleeting taste of vitality. Hades loathed that most.
In the wake of Aphrodite’s disruption, Diarmuid further cast the Fianna’s philosophies aside. If this vessel housing his soul demanded blood, why not plague Hades Lobby until the Harpies whisked him away? His pride became an avalanche, burying morality under the desolation of loss. “You say that I am good, but it is you who is good. These tribulations are the cost of my decisions, and those who suffered for them. What worth is honor when I have ruined it so?” Haley trailed her index finger back up the line of his back, “Because you are good. Honor means accountability. Something you’re doing now. You haven’t ruined it, bruised it, maybe. But bruises heal, and so should you.”