Inferno

The room was smaller when all three of them squeezed onto the bed. Not physically . . . the furniture hadn’t moved . . . but space had a way of folding in on itself when bodies pressed close and the day drew to a close. The air smelled of eucalyptus bubble bath and the faint scent of Daphne’s perfume, something floral and nostalgic, like lavender cut with orange blossom. Her work clothes were still creased from the day . . . a pale blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers, chalk dust smudged faintly on one hip. A stack of philosophy and history textbooks sat on the dresser by the door, their dog-eared pages holding half-graded essays and sticky notes in looping cursive.

Max had already been half-lying on the bed, propped on one elbow with The Little Prince resting on his knee. Magnus was wedged between them, his fox teddy serving as a makeshift pillow. He was fighting sleep with all the bravery an eight-year-old could muster . . . eyes heavy, but curiosity heavier.

“More?” Max asked, raising a brow as Magnus pointed at the book. “Haven’t we read enough of this little French enigma?”

Magnus shook his head firmly. “Mum hasn’t heard the time-travel part.”

Daphne laughed softly, curling her legs onto the mattress. “Oh, I know the part. But I want to hear what you two came up with this time.”

Max smirked. “We’ve reached the bit where the prince meets the pill merchant… the one who sells time-saving tablets. And then the railway switchman who sends trains to places no one remembers why they’re going.”

Daphne nodded in acknowledgement. She was familiar with the part too.

“The prince is travelling through time and space,” Max declared, pointing at the page. “That’s the obvious interpretation. He moves through dimensions, searching for meaning. That’s why he finally ends up on Earth.”

Daphne smiled, eyes twinkling. “Darling, you always forget the most important part.”

Max tilted his head. “Which is?”

“The underworld.”

Magnus frowned. “What’s that?”

Daphne glanced at Max. They shared a look . . . the kind parents share when deciding how much truth to give.

“It’s just a word from myths,” Max said lightly. “A kind of… deep place you go through to get somewhere better.”

Daphne nodded. “Exactly. Lots of stories have them. People pass through dark places before reaching the light.”

She rested a hand on Magnus’s back, warm and grounding. “I think the prince is passing through those kinds of places when he meets those people on the other planets.”

“Here we go,” Max muttered with mock despair. “Philosophy hour.”

Daphne ignored him. “Each person he meets represents a part of the human condition. Vanity. Greed. Pride. All sins, if you like.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose. “Like the guy who counts all the stars?”

“Greed,” Daphne said. “And the man who needs applause? Vanity.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Alright, Miss Inferno. But what about the lamplighter? He just lights the lamp. That’s not a sin. That’s a schedule.”

Daphne turned to him, amused. “In Dante’s Inferno, wrath isn’t always fire and shouting. Sometimes it’s sulking. The sullen are trapped beneath the surface of the river Styx, brooding for eternity.”

“So… you’re saying he’s in hell because he’s miserable about doing his job?” Max raised a brow.

“Not miserable. Just… unquestioning. Going through the motions. That’s the tragedy.”

Magnus blinked slowly. “So is the prince going through hell?”

Daphne leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “No, Moonbeam. He’s passing through confusion. Which isn’t the same.”

Max flipped to the next page. “Well, you’ve officially ruined it.”

“You started it with your space-time nonsense,” Daphne teased.

Magnus giggled. “I like it! Keep going.”

But Max paused.

A sound. Faint. Hollow. Like something settling behind the wall.

He turned his head, frowning toward the dark paneling in the corner of the room. The same patch Magnus had pointed to the night before.

“That noise again,” he muttered, setting the book aside.

Daphne followed his gaze. “What is it?”

“Might be the plumbing,” Max said, but his tone lacked conviction.

He stood and crossed the room, crouching beside the panel. The sound had stopped. He pressed his palm against the wood. Cool. Still.

When he turned back . . . They were gone. The bed was empty.

No Daphne. 

No Magnus.

Max’s heart skipped. He spun in a full circle. “Daphne?”

No answer.

Then . . . a sound. Low and distant. A foghorn.

The floor beneath his feet trembled. A deep, groaning creak like roots being torn from the earth.

Max rushed to the window, yanking the curtain aside.

Mist.

Thick and silver, swallowing everything. He could barely see the pool house across the garden. The trees swayed violently, as if battered by a storm he couldn’t hear.

And then he saw her.

Daphne.

Walking calmly down the driveway. White blouse glowing in the fog. Arms loose by her sides. Hair trailing behind her like smoke.

“Daphne!” Max shouted, pounding on the glass. “DAPHNE!”

She didn’t turn.

Didn’t pause.

Just kept walking.

Until the mist closed around her.

And she . . . vanished.