Possession

 

I'll never know why she was so fascinating to me. Honestly, she was nothing special. Nothing was particularly alluring about her. She was slightly overweight, even. Her hair was that dull ash blonde color.

No. No, I'm lying through my teeth, here.

It was her name that first sparked my interest. Nicolino. I felt like it belonged to me. Joana Nicolino. I saw it on an application form to intern at my publishing company. So I checked out her background.

Ms. Nicolino was twenty years old. Born in April. Well, hopefully she's nothing like the children of Ares, I thought. Her mother's family was Irish, her father's Italian. She was from the midwest. Des Moines, Iowa. But she lived in Manhattan, now. She had gone to a theatre conservatory, just graduated in May. But now she wanted to intern at my company.

Curious.

It seemed strange to me, that she had just graduated but now she wanted an internship at a publishing office. It drew my focus. I read her application and her cover letter. She seemed intelligent. The way she used words was unique for someone her age.

I got on the internet. One fantastic thing about modern advancements is that if you want to know about someone, you can just hack into their Facebook. No more shady dealings and background checks. It was kind of refreshing when it wasn't annoying.

She went by Jo. I looked at her pictures. Chubby. Long torso, short legs. But she had this face... this smile. And a dimple. Her eyes squinted up when she laughed, or smiled at all really. Fucking adorable. I read about her interests. She was kind of eclectic in her taste. I liked that. Not so predictable. She read a lot of books. And she had a lot of quotes. I didn't recognize some of them, which meant that she wrote things sometimes. I looked at her picture again. Vulnerable. Vulnerable, but wise, I think.

Curious.

She was funny. Witty. I guess she had a lot of material to draw from, with all the books she'd read, but still. I could tell. She went through periods of solitude and extroversion. I liked that. I liked her.

I wanted more.

So I found her. Followed her. Watched her. And I learned.

Joana was... malleable. She fit into whatever mold she needed to, with people for whom she cared. An admirable trait, if not often a bit of a misguided one. I can see why she'd been drawn to acting, at first. But it was when she was alone that I liked her best. She would shut herself in her apartment, away from her annoying roommates, and read. Anything she could find. She read a lot of fiction and fantasy, which I relished. I wanted to discuss things with her. I wanted to hear her thoughts, the things she always kept to herself. She sat Indian style on her bed, with her laptop in front of her and a couple snacks on the ledge next to her. She'd stay there. I felt like I had her to myself in these moments. They were hers, but she was mine.

After a week of following her through shadows, I turned her application in for interview. I wasn't directly involved with the running of the company anymore, I wouldn't know her in that sense. But I wanted her to work for me. I wanted to own her. Possess her. And so I would.

She got the internship, I made sure of it. She started eating more regularly, and dressing better because she actually had money to do laundry. I felt smug. Her life was better because of me. She depended on me already, and she didn't even know it. Controlling her this way, it was intoxicating. Addicting.

I wanted more.

She went out one night. I had been waiting for her to do something like this. To take time to herself, but go out into the world to do it. So I could ensnare her. Intrigue her. Pique her interest. And finally, she did. She played right into my hands.

After being made a god, I can understand why my father deviated to mortal flesh. There was something about them. Especially for an immortal such as myself. I'm the Prince of Death. The only son of Hades. So you should be able to guess the kind of things I did with my power. Horrible things, simply to entertain myself. To break the monotony.

I would bring this mortal, who deigned to usurp my name, to her knees before me. And I would take her. My name would escape her lips in ecstasy, in pain, in admiration, in a whisper and in a moan. The anticipation of it all sent chills through me.

She was in the back corner of a coffee shop. I approached, silently moving through shadow. I breathed in her scent as I stood before her, composed myself, and asked if I could join her.

"Sure," she said, without looking up from her book.

I pulled out the chair and sat, the leaned toward her.

"My name is Nico. Nico di Angelo."

The hair on her arms raised. Her eyes met mine. Her pupils dilated.

She was mine.