Persephone Tattoos Novels & Stories

It was a strange, disorienting experience, to witness such intimacy through another's perception. Then, a flicker of movement. The boy, Perseus, instinctively reached inside his shirt. A stark, black trail of veins, like an intricate, dark map, had been drawn onto his skin, a stark, undeniable marking. Anxiety tightened in his small chest. He looked up at Cassandra, his innocent eyes wide with a question that no child should ever have to ask. “Mama, am I going to die?” His voice, though young, carried an unsettling tremor.

Jerald was in front of me and I looked at his trouser. “Seriously? You look like pervert,” Jerald said and I looked at him in the face, is he serious? “Come on,” He said. He gave me his hand and helped me to stand. We walked into another room, and believe it or not… it was Kalona, the famous tattooist. She is best known for a phoenix tattoo she done on a celebrity here. “Boss and bosslady! Sorry to keep you waiting, come on in.” She said, I smiled and looked at Jerald who just raised his eyebrows.

Persephone leaned her head on Hades’s shoulder. “We have to cease the attack eventually, my love. We still need them.” “I know.” Persephone destroyed the stem whip in her hand and just looked at Hermes deadass into his eyes. “Be obedient, my children. If this escalates, mama’s going to unleash her secret weapon.” Hermes made himself smaller, curled like a ball. [You, my kind lady, had perfect execution there. I love your punishment style.] Persephone’s body jolted, surprised by the sudden telepathy.

But did I really want that? I was kind of lost right now. This felt like a lot, and I was not even sure what was going on between us. We still had a lot to chat about. I raised my hands, running them through my hair. As I did, I felt the cramping in my lower body ease up. My eyes wandered over Percival's tattoos. The Southern expert warrior symbol on his bicep caught my attention, along with the intricate design that flowed over half of his pec, across his shoulder, and down his arm, stopping halfway on his forearm. Earlier, I noticed a large symbol on his upper back. He looked so rugged now.

The searing pain in Seraphina’s wrist subsided into a steady, rhythmic thrumming that echoed the five celestial pulses inside her chest. She pushed herself up from the cold star-stone floor, supported by Kaelor’s heavy, stabilizing arm and Lysander’s vigilant grip on her elbow. The glowing mark of Queen Selenara—a crescent moon cradled by seven distinct stars—shimmered beneath her skin in brilliant, irremovable silver-violet threads.

That night, Henry finally let go of all restraint. The room lay in shadow, and he pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of Riverton flickering like stars beyond the glass. “Claire…” “Yes?” “I want to get another tattoo.” “Where?” He gripped my hand and pressed it to his lower back, mirroring the spot that corresponded to mine. There, with each of his breaths, a faint outline of a feral totem emerged. “I want to tattoo your image. I want to carve you into my bones forever.”

It’s weird to think there was a happy time. “What else is in the box?” I asked, moving the album aside, not nearly finished looking through it but knowing if I don’t stop, I never will. “Let’s see.” Persephone dug back into the box. With a grunt, she took out an older leather-bound book that didn’t just have the Silvercloud owl, but the same markings mom and I have when using our shaman power etched into the binding. As I reached for the book, the markings, and owl started to glow, and it floated out of Persephone’s hands and into mine.

Monalisa looks on as Silvia was being dragged by the two men to the dungeons, she sighs loudly as she enters the Pericolosa mansion. The door was opened to her by two men who wore black suit. The door was huge and had a dragon drawn on it, the dragon was exactly the same as the dragon tattoo on Lisa’s neck, it is the Pericolosa symbol, all leaders of the Pericolosa had the same tattoo drawn on their body when they become leader.

“She wasn't in her room when we got back. Her dress was on the floor alongside this note.” Without much of a thought, I shove Perseus aside and race over to Anesha's room. The hallway is suspiciously empty save for one server cleaning up the rug right in front of her open door. He stops working abruptly to give me a stiff nod and starts walking in the opposite direction, quickly. Too quickly. There's a red tattoo at the back of his neck. Squinting I see that it's a lotus flower. It feels familiar but my mind doesn't make any connections.

A woman leaned close to them, smiling softly as she smoothed my son’s hair. The boy was Eren, the child I had nearly given up half my life force to bring into the world. The woman was not me. I was Persephone, goddess of spring, queen of the Underworld, and Hades’s wife under every sacred law. Not long after, Nympha posted her own update on the social feed. In the illustration, my mother’s pomegranate brooch lay beside a small charm of laurel and asphodel, clumsily woven by a child’s hands. Beneath it, she wrote: