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Agatha was thrice blessed: by Demeter, by prophecy, by birth into power.
Thrice cursed: caged, controlled, claimed by a mother who saw only her value.
Then Rio came: an alpha who should have been beneath her notice, who smelled like earth and honey.
When their hands first touched, the vision tore through her. Sunlight through olive leaves. Bodies tangled in sheets. A tongue that split and tasted acrid. Dark eyes hollowed out into nothingness.
She saw what loving Rio would cost.
For one night, Agatha chose freedom.
The gods made her pay for it.