Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 53

Eve~

I painted all day, trying to drown out the dull ache in my chest. Each stroke of the brush was an attempt to forget the heaviness, but it clung to me, relentless. Yesterday, after the kiss, I had painted to escape too. A rough, hurried work—emerald green eyes that had haunted me throughout the night.

Now, I stood in front of another canvas, letting my emotions spill onto it. My brush moved in wide arcs, creating a stormy sky—dark clouds clashing against one another, lightning threatening to split them apart. As I stepped back to examine it, a chill ran down my spine. The painting wasn’t just a reflection of my feelings; it reminded me of him. Of Hades.

The stormy sky mirrored his brooding nature, the cold distance that always hung between us. His silver eyes often shifted like that, from a calm gray to the stormy hue of a sky about to unleash chaos. They had that look today when he’d reminded me where we stood—trapped in this hollow marriage, bound by an alliance but separated by a vast emotional gulf. He didn’t have to say anything. His eyes said it all. It gutted me again.

I clenched the brush tighter, my agitation rising. I didn’t want to think about him, didn’t want him creeping into my thoughts even when I was trying to escape. I tossed the brush, frustrated. I love painting, but this was beginning to drive me mad.

At least, he would stop torturing me for a crime my father committed. He had promised, and he had been true to his word by giving me a canvas and letting me visit an art gallery. Yet, I felt like I had been whipped all the same. I needed to get myself together.

Those dark, dreary years behind bars had made me crave kindness and warmth. And he had given me that, but we were not friends. We could never be friends—or more…

But his words as we danced at the gala echoed in my head. Let’s just say I am a bit intrigued by you.

I shook my head to toss away the memory. He had been teasing me, to put me at ease. That was all it had been. Now, I feel like ending things all the time, and my nightmares had been plagued by something other than horror. Him...

Suddenly, I heard a soft sound, like paper being slipped across the floor. I turned toward the door, my brows crinkling. A folded piece of paper had been passed through the gap at the bottom of the door.

I hesitated but eventually made my way to the paper and picked it up. Unfolding it with a bit of trepidation, my breath caught in my throat.

It was a drawing… of me. My turquoise eyes stared back at me from the page, created by mixing shades of blue and green, imperfect but tenderly drawn. The lines were shaky, uneven, as if sketched by a small hand. In the corner, written in wobbly, childlike handwriting, was a single word:

"Sorry."

I opened the door to see no one. He couldn’t have gotten far, especially if he was alone. I walked down the hall; I hadn’t heard the elevator’s ding, so it meant he was using the stairs.

When I got to the stairs and looked down, I caught him. His small form was walking as fast as he could, almost waddling like a penguin. My mood lightened immediately.

"Elliot," I called.