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our lady of the underground
act i , fruit of the vine
chapter one , lost in the labyrinth

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        PERSEPHONE DIDN'T know what to do with the body.

Well, body might have been a rather nihilistic take, it was a man and there was certainly life in him yet.

She had certainly thought him dead when her cool eyes first caught sight of him, lying there lifeless in the gutter, lit by nothing except the low-burning light of the street-lamps and cool light of the moon.

However, the longer she regarded him, she noted small twitches and heard strange, slurred mumblings escaping his lips that proved that there been no foul at foot, merely an overzealous lord and overly generous bar-keeper.

Upon seeing him she had frozen in her step and now, in her current state of inertia, Persephone was having the internal debate as to whether she should satisfy her curiosities and inch closer or whether she should do the smart thing and carry on by, as though humans in gutter were as just as ordinary as the rats in them.

She was a smart woman, but she would never argue with the course of fate, especially if it happened to throw an unconscious gentleman at her feet.

Wrapping her overcoat around herself, Persephone took a few slow steps closer to the figure on the floor, careful to tread quietly, should she not wish to be discovered and subsequently accused of incapacitating the man before her — whomever he was.

This was not the path that she normally took — she had felt compelled to take a detour back to her boarding house after parting from her sister and brother-in-law's establishment, longing for a walk in the moonlight.

The rest of her companions had left nearly an hour before the young performer, who had been too wrapt in conversation with Ariadne to notice their departure.

As the final hours of night time approached and the moon continued to wane, Persephone had taken her leave and had begun slowly ambling her way, mindlessly along the dark cobbled streets, until she had met her new friend in the gutter.

She crouched beside him, eyes narrowing as she looked over his face. Oh, he came from wealth, there was no doubt about that, he was pristine, not a wrinkle not a scar, Persephone almost chuckled as she took him in, wondering if he'd ever encountered any hardship. He'd certainly never worked a day in his life, she could tell that from his hands, not a callous, not a chipped nail, just an array of awfully expensive-looking rings — family heirlooms she supposed.

Persephone gave another chuckle — he was a sitting duck.

The fabric of his overcoat alone would no doubt pay the next ten years of her rent, the rings; the ten after that, and she didn't dare to estimate the price of the pocket-watch the peeked out from behind his lapel.

"What ails you, sir?" She wondered, her gaze softening a little.

She too had been a similar state — not lying in a gutter, her dignity would never allow for such a thing. But she was well acquainted with the actions that prologued such a fate; the quest for comfort, hoping that the solution to one's agony could be found at the bottom of a glass of wine ... or the next glass .. or the one after that ...

Her heart ached in her chest, as she spotted the traces of pain in the man's face; the downward turn of his lips, the furrow of his brow and the fading trails glistening on his porcelain face where tears had once flowered.

Going against her better judgement, the blonde reached forward and tucked his pocket watch out of sight, folding his hands over one another to conceal his rings, all the while more drunken mumblings spilled from his lips.

Sensing another presence and the feeling of another's hand on his own, the man reflexed and held her hand in own, his eyes half-opening only to be met with a pale of cool blue irises that regarded him with a look of heartbreak.

Persephone let him take her hand — she allowed him that comfort.

"You're going to be alright." She whispered.

The man said nothing, his eyes still half-shut but absolutely fixated on the woman beside him.

"You're alright."

"Lord Bridgerton!"

Persephone started at the sound of an outcry that shook through the streets, she ripped her hands from the man's grasp who had emitted an objectionable groan at the loud noise echoing around them, his eyes squinting shut in despair.

The blonde immediately rose to her feet and stole away into the dark corner of a nearby alley, as the sound of horse's hooves and the rattling of a carriage accompanied the next shout.

"Lord Bridgerton!"

A Bridgerton. Well, he had most certainly strayed far from the beaten track.

She was well aware of the family's notoriety in the ton — of their perfectly handsome sons, and perfectly beautiful daughters — yet she never encountered one herself.

Which of the sons did she suppose was this? They had addressed him as Lord, so the eldest of the brood he must have been.

Lord, she mused. Quite a title for one so young. No wonder he had surrendered to drink — running from that responsibility.

"Here!" The voice called into the distance. "He's here!"

Persephone watched as two well-dressed footmen spotted the figure in the gutter, as they entered the streets, quickly being followed by a slow-moving horse-drawn carriage that as accompanying their search.

"My Lord, are you well?"

The man made no noise as they approached him, quickly scooping him up from the floor, his arms thrown across both of their shoulders as they walked him towards to the safety of the carriage.

Persephone Drake pursed her lips in mild amusement as she watched the two men carefully instate the lord into the carriage, before taking their own place at the reins and commencing their journey back to the luxury of Mayfair.

A light chuckle shook through her as she stepped back out into the moonlight, the carriage turning the corner as she revealed herself. She wondered whether the Bridgerton's exploits would evade notice of the next day's scandals sheets or whether his tale was be plastered across front of each one. She doubted the latter — of what she knew of the Bridgertons, one thing was certain and that was how they were untouchable.

She cast a cool glance back at the gutter where the lord has once laid, there was no trace of him now, only she and the stars had been witnesses to his agony.

Her feet began to move, the heels of the boots hitting the cobbled streets with an echoing click that resounded along the narrow street she walked down.

She continued on her way, absent-mindedly fiddling with the ring that she had removed from his finger, running her thumb along the embossed B etched into the gold.

Persephone Drake was no thief, but she was not above giving fate a little helping should it wish to reunite her with the strange lord in the gutter. She slid the ring onto her thumb, smirking a little at the weight of the gold.

She cast a glance at the gleaming stars above.

"Stars, hide your fires." The actress mused to the night's sky. "Let not light see my black and deep desires."

𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖆 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖘!
my brain baby has
made a return with
this short little number x