Eve
Rhea was becoming stronger with each day. I could feel her growling in my mind each time the thought of Hades crossed it.
"You are going to escape," she told me, bristling. "I promise."
Weakness wrecked my body. My mouth was so dry I could barely speak—because I realized it was being laced. They were drugging me to keep me weak, to make me sluggish, too slow to think of escaping.
I opened my eyes, dry from dehydration, staring into the void of darkness. I had to get up. I had to do something. People would die. I had foolishly fallen in love with a genocidal tyrant. That was my fault. But I had to get up—for the innocents who would suffer if I didn't act.
I rose from the hard bed, feeling my joints creak like they needed oil. My stomach felt like it was eating itself as I braced against the bed, using it as an anchor.
It was either starvation or a drug-induced psychosis that would do me in, but I chose neither.
