Fleeing from the mountain paradise, from the place where every hellish thing that she had ever done had taken place, Calipsia went back to the only place where she had ever felt at home, felt peace, felt love. Tenebris Paradiso. The place of living death where she had thought she could atone for the things she had done. She passed through the gate, throwing herself into Charon’s gondola. He spoke no words, the only sound being that of the oar slipping into the waters of Styx. Reaching the shores, she slipped out, cloak masking her from everything. Cerebus slunk away from her, whining softly. Only when she stepped across the gate of the deadly garden did she remove her cloak and stuff it back into the hat. Then she walked softly through the garden, boots making no sound in the soft earth. Remembering every night with the boy. Looking around, though it was vibrant as never before, it seemed empty to Calipsia. The boy wasn’t waiting by the wicker swing for her, wasn’t leaning against one of the neverwood trees in the forest, wasn’t laying in the whispergrass.

“And he never will again,” whispered Calipsia softly. The whisper echoed across Tenebris, growing strength until it boomed in the rest of Hades. It was the sound of utmost misery, of utmost loss. She sank to her knees, tears as black and shiny as the swirling marks of her skin slid down her pale and cold cheeks, hitting the soft ground.

The wraith animals came a few minutes later, feeling their mistress in distress and back in Tenebris. They sat around, not understanding, but loyally staying with her. The birds of prey perched in the neverwood trees around her. The wolves sat on their haunches, heads bowed. The little foxes curled their tails around themselves, heads on their paws. The cats followed suit, though they sat closer in to Calipsia, still on alert as though someone might dare step foot into this place of despair, might dare to disturb the lady of the night, of sorcery. Chaos and Destruction, the twin black horses, lay on either side of Calipsia, shielding her from the world with their massive bodies. Only the ravens weren’t present, weren’t among the mourning animals.

As much as Calipsia took comfort in their support, they could not ease her sorrow. Not this time. And so they stayed, all in their mutual grief for Calipsia’s loss. The animals may not have liked the boy at first, but over time, they had come to accept his presence, accept that he made their mistress glow.

They would have stayed like that, forever and always, had the appearance of the ravens not caught their attention. At first, they were only a far off speck, visible to only the cats and Calipsia. But as they neared, it became clear that they carried something with them.

Twisting overhead, they dropped a small bundle into Calipsia’s lap, landing in the neverwoods with the other birds.

Calipsia unwrapped the bundle, revealing one of the bloodroses that grew in her greenhouse. But it wasn’t any bloodrose. This one was a rich mahogany, with striations of pale tortoiseshell and swirls of pearl running through the petals. This was not grown from Calipsia’s blood, nor any of the animals; it was not any grown from the gods, for she knew all of their bloodpatterns. No, this was a new one, one she had never seen before. But looking upon it, she knew who had produced such a beauty. She remembered the one time she had grown a batch from Janus’s blood, when the boy was there with her. She recalled showing him the special process to make the seeds for them. Shock reverberated through her heart, her soul. He had done it...the boy had perfected the process…with his own bloodpattern. She lifted the delicate blossom, inhaling softly. The rose smelled of him, but not in the way one might think. It smelled of sunshine, of laughter. Of running across fields, of making homemade cookies, of night air on a front stoop in his city. It smelled of clasped hands, of sweet blushes, innocent gazes.

Calipsia lowered the flower to the ground, unable to think on his. She dug in the dirt for a moment, dirt staining her fingers, and the gloves on her palms. Then she pushed the stem into the ground, covering it back up. Leaning back on her heels, she looked at the now planted flower. She gently nudged it upright, but it continued to droop. It was fading right before her eyes. She started looking around frantically, starting to sing a rushed lullaby as she searched through her hat for anything that might save it. She crooned to it, watered it, even magicked it, but to no avail. It stiffened, and then crumbled, the ash blowing away in the wind. Calipsia watched it, new tears falling from her strange eyes.

The tears flowed down her clothes, hitting the earth and, upon touching it, turned into glass, black as night, and smooth and hard as the finest china. They continued across the glass, the black spreading outwards. The animals did not move, and so the ink continued over them, locking them into a cold and unyielding prison. It swept across the garden, freezing any animal, any plant, anything in its embrace. Reaching the gate, and the border of the garden, however, it moved upward, building a black, impenetrable wall around the area, letting none in. It continued, sealing Tenebris Paradiso away from Hades, from the world.

All the while, Calipsia continued mourning, tears flowing freely. They began to climb her, freezing her body in the same inky glass. Realizing it, she gave one final, melancholy smile as Tenebris was sealed off completely and the glass froze her completely.

“So be it.”