Back? # **Chapter Nine: A Long Winter’s Nap** *OLYMPUS Headquarters, 8:45 AM* --- Song(s): **It Snowed - Meaghan Smith** --- Across the city and a world away, someone else was also settling in for a long winter’s nap. Eira had taken refuge at OLYMPUS’ secluded base of operations, resting in an elaborate suite meant for its leader’s daughter. Casting the storm and subduing that knife-happy mortal had taken all the good out of him, and as much as it pained him, he needed to rest and recuperate. This wasn’t his own body; mortals weren’t built to handle the strain of powerful, demonic magic. Had his vessel not been purposely strengthened to sustain such a demanding possession, he’d already be expelled from a lifeless body and sent back to the underworld in shame. Speaking of his vessel, the sorceress hosting him was uncooperative, to say the least. Scylla -- or rather, Willow -- had fallen unconscious from the initial shock of the possession, especially the transformations inflicted upon her as Eira moulded his vessel to his liking. But now she was fully awake and aware, trapped inside her mind as a silent observer of the demon’s vengeful reign. As he puppeteered her body, Eira could hear her thoughts and sift through her memories, the only remnants of her existence. Through these memories, he gleaned some intriguing insights. His summoning had been unintentional. Willow was under the impression that the spell she’d been given was to create a snowstorm, unaware that her mother had tricked her into following her own plan. Eira didn’t care about the circumstances. Willingly or not, he had been summoned, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. What he did care about was that Willow was determined enough to try. She had already wrestled control of her body back from the demon, her attempts growing stronger each time. While she could never keep it for long, the fact that she could at all was detrimental to Eira’s plans. He needed to find some way to stop her. But how? Fortunately for him, he had a wonderful, awful idea. “My dear,” he sneered, “I’d suggest you stop struggling against me. I’m well aware this wasn’t in your plans for today, but as your family’s patron, you know full well you’re bound to serve my whims. I will say this once and once only: either you cease your pitiful little attempts at resistance, or I will march us both down to your mother’s office and spill every dirty little secret you’ve been ever-so-carefully hiding. Oh, but you wouldn’t want that, now, would you?” Eira’s threat had the immediate effect he thought it would, and he could feel every ounce of resolve draining from the sorceress. She couldn’t disturb him anymore if she tried: he wasn’t known as the Lord of Frost and Despair for nothing. Now, he was wholly unfettered to do whatever his cold, twisted heart desired. At least, he would be if he didn’t have to rest and tend to his vessel first. Even a powerful sorceress like Willow had her limits, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose his only shot at redemption before it began. And since that was a risk he refused to take, he settled onto the chaise longue in Willow’s quarters and switched on her television, flipping through channels in disgust. There was nothing but holiday films on -- a saccharine festive romance here, an insipid musical cartoon meant to sell merchandise there, nothing of any value to be found. Finally, he relaxed, settling on the only offering he didn’t despise. Its macabre atmosphere wasn’t as offensive as the garish reds and greens, and, while unintentional, the main character almost ruins the hated holiday entirely. Hopefully, he’d be asleep before the -- ugh -- happy ending. Besides, he wouldn’t rest for long. His work was far from over.