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The Styx wraps its arms around everybody once they meet their end, it is said. The comfort of death is promised to all, mortal and diety alike.
Not her, though. Never her. She didn't deserve it, they thought.
Tisiphone only had enough time to feel the sting of the Stygian Blade's kiss burying itself in her pale, thin skin. She gasped, a burst of pain blooming for the shadow of a second. It extended, tearing her apart, apart, apart, until there was nothing but the violent flap of bats flying away from the kinslayer Prince into the humid air.
What used to be long, drawn-out battles between her and Zagreus grew more difficult, and now, the odds were increasingly on the Prince's side.
She did not leave, however, without hissing out one last word. "Zzagreusss…!"
–
All was silent in Erebus. Nothing but the rocking of Styx's waves echoed in the cavernous walls. Nothing, that is, until a bony, sickly hand ripped itself out of the water, clutching at the stairs of a platform tucked away in one of its corners. The sulphuric water never made reforming easy, but that was the last thought in the Fury's mind. Tisiphone dragged herself out of the waters onto the area the Furies were meant to call home. She coughed the water out violently, heaving as she dragged herself onto the surface. It was a mockery of being received at the House of Hades, Alecto sneered once.
Before, she would've forced herself to immediately leave back and report to work. After all, that is a Fury's sole role - punishing those that deserved to be punished. The fact that she needed to heal after such a defeat never crossed her mind. Before, she wouldn't have spared a thought to the circumstances that led her here. This singular focus was etched deep into Tisiphone, into her skin, her bones, her blood, her very soul. It was her only preoccupation, all consuming. This approach made it so the few times when she spared a thought about her sisters, the few times that Lord Hades called them all to report, she couldn't help but think they were fools. They were made for one thing, born from violence and will likely end in violence, and they all knew it well - why, then, did Alecto take this as a pleasure? Why did Megaera fraternize with those back at the House? The House she and Alecto weren't allowed to go to, the house where that blasted Prince was from.
She couldn't help but let out a weary sigh when the Prince came to mind, surprising even herself. She stood up, shaking off the leftover water. The Prince was the cause of everything going wrong. The murderer, patricide, and everything else she could think of. He was the cause of her losses. If he hadn't thought of escaping, Tisiphone could focus on her work, torturing those that deserved it. Those like him, leaving a bloody path in their wake, were her reason for being. Did he truly think she would let him out of her grasp?
Suddenly, however, a memory came to mind. She reached down to pat herself. Even her own touch was foreign. She never groomed, only what was necessary. It wasn't odd for her to be forced by her sisters to wash their victims' blood off. It wasn't a mark of pride like it would be for Alecto, no; it was work, and caring for herself was nothing but a waste of time.
Her searching proved fruitful and Tisiphone pulled out a small vial of nectar from her pocket. She had felt the slight of hand mid-battle, Zagreus's slippery trickery. He must have taken her unawares while lashing her whip, his flaming dashes setting him right beside her, throwing a wink before he dodged yet another hit. She stared at the vial. The right thing to do was to smash it right then: it was contraband, after all. Still, the nectar's presence alone… unnerved her. She couldn't remember the last time she felt like this. It was hard to decipher the weird feeling growing in the pit of her stomach - it didn't want her to destroy the nectar. It wanted her to keep it.
She let out an exasperated growl, echoing in the chamber. She prepared herself to throw it into the waters. Alecto would find out, and that would be a whole other problem. She couldn't risk keeping it. Still, something held her back, the same odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. She needed to get on with this, she needed to get back to work.
She'd felt this way, once, before all she could speak were accusations. Back when the world was new, back when she and her sisters were in Nyx's bosom. Back before everything changed, back before everybody stopped talking to her because she was odd. “A crack in her mind,” she remembered Nyx commenting. She took her role to heart until it consumed everything she was, until her violence scared others, because it was all she had.
That's exactly why the Prince stood out. He wasn't afraid of her. His home didn’t welcome her, but he did, and with open arms.
She lowered the nectar, staring at it. She had never seen anything this bright, this ethereal. It was wholly out of place here. She slowly walked over to the corner of Erebus others called hers, because she didn't consider it hers, as she didn't use it. She had no use for rest. It was full of cobwebs and dust, untouched, just like her. She walked up to the sole table there, ancient and large, and placed the nectar there. She refused to drink it, but she couldn't destroy it.
All her life, all she knew was to punish and be punished. Then came this upstart little godling, barely reaching up to her shoulder, and had her questioning everything. He even took the time to teach her his name. It infuriated her. She didn't want to lower her defenses, much less to a parricidal godling. It was ridiculous.
Enough. She turned away from the table, stepping away. She had work to do.
Now, however, her thoughts weren't so single-minded. A new idea had planted roots in her mind, whether she realized it or not, thanks to the prince.
Change.