Of Rage & Suffering She Lives

Persephone's Point of View

♕︎ ♕︎ ♕︎

"Still Here" by Nick Alexandr pounded through my ear pods, the bass reverberating so deeply it almost felt like an extension of my pulse. The music was cranked up to its maximum volume—loud enough to obliterate the endless stream of chatter from students around me, the gentle rustling of leaves stirred by the wind, and even the maddening hum of my own thoughts. It wasn't an accident. It wasn't for enjoyment either. The song had become more than just a track; it was a refuge. Each beat, each verse, served as armor, wrapping around me like an impenetrable shield, allowing me to drown out the overwhelming chaos of the world outside. It was my silence, my escape, as I made my way toward the portal—the shimmering gateway to Sky-Eden Academy.

Sky-Eden. The name alone carried weight, enough to strike fear or awe—or both—into anyone who heard it. Its reputation as the most prestigious and brutal boarding school for supernatural beings in existence was as infamous as it was revered. But Sky-Eden wasn't just a school; it was an institution, a proving ground. A crucible where young supernaturals were tested, broken down, and reforged into something stronger, sharper, and entirely unyielding. For outsiders, it stood as a shining symbol of excellence, the pinnacle of education for the extraordinary. But for those of us who lived it, walked its halls, and endured its torment, it was something else entirely. It was a gilded prison. A battlefield masquerading as an academy.

I'd been tethered to this place since I was seven years old. Seven. That was twelve years ago. Twelve long, grueling years of relentless training, unyielding rules, and suffocating expectations. I was nineteen now, with my twentieth birthday hovering on the horizon, and yet here I was—still stuck in my sophomore year. While most students graduated well before this age, Sky-Eden followed no conventional timeline. No mercy. I still had two more years to endure, two more years before I could finally claw my way out of this hellhole. Escape. That's the only word that fits—escape. Because no matter how grand the academy appeared, no matter how brightly its reputation shone, Sky-Eden wasn't a sanctuary for me. It was a cage.

I stopped just short of the portal, my eyes fixed on its hypnotic glow. Swirls of energy twisted and pulsed within its frame, alive with an almost eerie beauty. It beckoned and warned in equal measure. My body tensed instinctively, knowing what lay beyond it, what awaited me on the other side. I didn't need to look back to know my brothers were trailing close behind me. They were always there, always hovering in my periphery like shadows that never fully disappeared.

Atlas, the youngest of us—though only by a few minutes—darted forward first, his golden eyes gleaming with the kind of excitement that only he could muster. To Atlas, life was one grand adventure. Every moment was an opportunity to explore, every challenge a story waiting to be written. His energy was boundless, contagious even, though I rarely let myself get swept up in it.

Apollo followed closely, his demeanor quieter but no less determined. His excitement was there, but it was directed elsewhere. Not at the portal. Not at the academy. Not at the day ahead. No, Apollo's focus was singular, all-consuming: Neo-Brynolf Wahlström. Neo, a seven-tailed white fox and Apollo's boyfriend, was the gravitational center of my brother's world. The intensity of Apollo's devotion to Neo was… overwhelming, to put it mildly. Watching the two of them together was equal parts endearing and nauseating.

Not that I had any real issues with Neo. In fact, I didn't mind him at all. My problem wasn't with Neo—it was with Loki. Loki, Neo's best friend and my personal nightmare. The nine-tailed red fox had made it his mission to torment me, to chase me relentlessly with his infuriating persistence and infuriatingly cocky grin. Everything about him made my blood boil. The way he talked. The way he looked at me. The way he always seemed to know exactly how to push my buttons. I loathed him.

Avoiding Loki had become second nature to me. Thankfully, it wasn't hard. I was good at avoiding people in general. Even the Tartarus Sisterhood—the girls who idolized me, who saw me as their leader—barely caught more than glimpses of me these days. I kept my distance from everyone. It was easier that way. Cleaner. Safer.

The portal sealed shut behind my brothers with a soft hum, its glow dissipating into the air like smoke. I stood there, hesitating, my feet rooted to the ground. My gut told me to walk away, to open another portal and disappear into the unknown. Anywhere would've been better than Sky-Eden. But before I could act, Apollo's hand closed around my forearm, stopping me in my tracks. A split second later, Atlas yanked out my ear pods.

They knew how much I hated that. The ear pods were my universal signal—a flashing neon sign that screamed leave me alone. Subtle, no. Obvious, yes. Yet somehow, my brothers refused to respect the boundaries I'd carefully put in place.

"…Sephone?"

Their voices—eerily identical—cut through the quiet, forcing my gaze to shift between them. Snow-white hair, golden eyes. They looked like two halves of the same perfect coin. Sometimes I wondered what it would've been like if I'd inherited their features instead of… whatever it was I ended up with.

Sure, my crimson-red hair and golden eyes were striking, but they weren't real. They were carefully crafted, dyed and concealed to hide the truth. Beneath the mask, I didn't look like them. I didn't look like Dad with his midnight-blue eyes and raven-black hair. I didn't look like Mom with her soft pink waves and radiant golden gaze. I was the odd one out. The anomaly.

Different. Strange.

Hot? Without a doubt. But still strange.

Even my brothers, as close as we were, hadn't seen the real me in years. Not since we were kids. Not since the day I decided it was easier to hide. And it was. It was easier. Safer. It was also why I never shifted into my dragon form—not in front of anyone. The only exception was Dad, and even then, it was only during training. Dad wasn't a dragon; he was a vampire. But somehow, he understood. He made me feel safe, like I didn't have to pretend.

My brothers, on the other hand? They were constant reminders of everything I wasn't. Every time I looked at them, I saw it—the glaring differences, the way I didn't fit. Dad used to tell me I looked like Mom, that I had her fire. But it had been nine years since she died. Nine years since Lust-Rhae Evangeline Python—the Archangel Queen—tore her from us.

Mom wasn't a murderer. She'd only killed Lust-Rhae's husband to protect herself, to survive. But Lust-Rhae didn't care. All she cared about was revenge.

And one day, I'll make her pay. She stole my mother, my family, my life. One day, I'll make her suffer for every second of pain she's caused.