by M. M. Kin
There was no end to the delight he could give her, and she certainly had her own share of fun returning the favor – sans the shadowy powers that were part of his Gift, of course. She had remembered Cyane's words about using a man, not letting them gain the upper hand and getting your satisfaction from them before they tired of you. It had seemed to work well because she learned so much, the knowledge he offered not limited to the carnal arts. She should have been happy with this. So why had she decided that her virginity was no longer worth keeping?
Persephone slowly slid her hand out of his embrace and drew it to her chest.
“I offered myself since it was something I knew I would enjoy. What especially hurts about what you did is that I was enjoying your company and you knew I did. I thought... hoped that would be enough for you. Just because I miss the upper world and wish to go back to it does not mean that I never wanted to see you again. You have taught me so many things.”
“I know you do enjoy yourself here. You have blossomed into a radiant goddess. Here you get the chance to experience freedom and achieve your potential...”
Persephone shook her head. As much as she had grown, as far as she had come... she knew she still had a ways to go. She could sense it, something within herself that was... incomplete. Despite all she had learned and accomplished here, the emptiness remained, only further emphasized by the knowledge that she was bound to a dead place.
“I am not there yet,” Persephone answered humbly in all clarity. “You do not know what I can do. You just... decided my fate as if it were not my own.”
“Again, I am sorry.” He bowed his head before looking up at her again.
“You say that you are sorry... but you need to prove it. My forgiveness must be earned. I may care for you, but I need you to understand just what has happened to me and why I am so upset.”
Hades rose to his feet, reaching towards her. She shook her head and backed away.
“I need to be alone. Please respect that, Aidon.”
“Very well. But just know that I love you. I always have, and always will.” His voice was sorrowful but rich and deep. She blinked and looked away, making a quick retreat down the steps and dashing past the pomegranate tree into one of the gardens.
The Lord of the Dead looked down at his hand, feeling a faint tingle from where he had grasped hers. Normally, he made the best decisions, patient and wise in his ways. Yet with this alluring goddess, he had acted rashly several times. Rather than ask Demeter about a proper courtship, he had used the incident with Ares as an excuse to hide in the shadows and claim his bride in a quite... forceful way.
And now it was easy to see the result of when one added Zeus's insensitivity and Demeter's over-protectiveness of her child. He knew he could not hide from Demeter forever, and now Persephone's anger and confusion at the entire situation made him feel entirely unsure of just how he should proceed – a dilemma that he had not found himself in for a very long time.
o0o
In the tropical garden, Persephone was in an atmosphere that was as close to the upper world as possible. She could play in and even drink the water, and the plants were lush in variety and composition. The sky was gold-tinted with blue at the edges, making the atmosphere feel even more warm and cheerful. It was one of her favorite places to go when she wanted to be alone.
She shed her clothes on the sand near the pond and climbed the rocky outcropping that led to the waterfall. As she gazed down at the pool, she felt the thrill that she always did before she jumped. There was that moment that for an instant seemed like forever, as she propelled herself, a fleeting sensation of being frozen in mid-air before starting her descent.
Her body sliced through the water before she surfaced, flicking her head and flipping her wet hair over her shoulder. She rose from the water, her hair becoming almost straight as it plastered down her back. When she called for Cloe, the shade appeared with a towel.
Rather than use actual dead souls as servants, Hades preferred these shades. Without minds or mouths of their own, the sHades's presence was unobtrusive and inconsequential. They materialized as he needed them and disappeared into nothing when dismissed. The Lord of the Dead truly was a secretive person, and Persephone had to admit that she was flattered at the fact that he would share some things with her that he had never done with anyone else.
She let out a quiet huff as she rubbed her face with the towel before rubbing her hair dry. Hades had been so earnest in his apology, and it had been all too easy to be tempted to forgive him, but Persephone had many things to consider. She was willing to forgive him, yes, but not without something in exchange. Something that was real and tangible...
o0o
Elysium was, as always, a cheery place. A gaggle of women darted by, all of them wearing spotless white chitons with various lavishly hued girdles and sashes, flowers adorning their locks. Men chased after them, apparently engaging in a game of good-humored tag. Persephone sat in the grass silently, watching the cheerful scene before her. In the simple attire she had chosen, it was easier for the Queen of the Dead to be able to fit more easily in with the residents of Elysium.
She rose to her feet, wandering along a path as she politely declined the offers of fruit from the people with baskets laden with produce. Everything looked so good, and after having tasted the pomegranate, Persephone was undeniably curious as to what everything else tasted like.
Before she realized it, Persephone wandered into a different area, one that was taken up with dye vats, weaving looms, and various textile-based paraphernalia. It reminded her of her mother's dyeing room where Demeter had similar items but on a smaller scale. There were looms such as she was familiar with, with modest-sized frames. Further along one side of the room were looms of considerably larger proportions, far larger than anything she had ever seen her mother work with.
The yarns in the many baskets she saw neatly arranged and stacked by the looms were far finer than the linen or wool her mother had ever created. Some of the yarns really were little more than thin strands, as fine as spider's silk. On some of the looms were halfway-done projects using such exotic material, revealing themselves to be the satins and silks of many of the dresses in her wardrobe.
Despite her usual aversion to the weaving craft, Persephone was actually fascinated with what was going on here. Some of the fabrics were plain, of just one color, but the vibrancy of the hues and the quality of the materials more than spoke for themselves. Others were clearly the products of creative minds, bearing all sorts of fanciful images and designs woven into the cloth. Everybody in Elysium moved at their own pace, but it was clear that they were all enjoying their work – whether it be collecting the ethereal fruit that grew in Dis, performing music or theater, or even doing something that was ordinarily a chore in the world of the living, including this weaving. Some were quickly creating row after row, working at an efficient pace, others sat in front of their looms, toying with different colors or trying to figure out how to illustrate a pattern they had just conjured in their minds.
Persephone noticed with some surprise that a good amount of the people here – perhaps one in nine or ten – were male. She had never seen a man at the loom before as weaving was considered woman's work, and in most of Hellas – though the rest of the world was no exception – the roles of a man and a woman were clearly defined. But here, the men stared at their projects with as much interest or concentration as any of their female peers, and their work was the same in quality.
Several occupants of the studio glanced over at Persephone and would acknowledge her with a brief nod or a quick, friendly smile, but the pace of the activity continued. She walked along, silently perusing the projects being constructed around her before coming to the dye vats again. She paused as she watched several women argued over one particular tub, its contents – from what she could see – the color of pomegranate juice.
The women were talking about what to add, this plant or that or to just leave it alone. Sud
denly, the far right of the four women looked up, taking notice of the newcomer.
“Hey, you! Come here, we need your help.” The woman was middle-aged but attractive, her thick dark hair tied back with an indigo-colored sash that matched her ankle-length peplos. Persephone felt an odd surge of familiarity as she stared at the woman before approaching the quartet.
The woman pointed to the tub that they had been arguing over. “We're trying to decide if the color needs any change. I think it's fine, Calirhoe here thinks it needs more blue, and Bucea and Halie says it needs more red. What do you think?”
Persephone let out a sigh as she looked at the tub. Pigments always looked much darker in their dye form, so it was sometimes hard to guess how they would look on fabric. “Have you already dyed something?” she asked. She was shown a clothesline nearby with several strips of various dyed cloths on it. The one the women pointed to was at the far left, and fortunately, it had already dried. The color was gorgeous, and Persephone could see no reason why another color should be added to it.
“It is perfect as is. I would love some clothing made with this color.”
“Ha,” The indigo-garbed woman grinned good-naturedly at her companions. Persephone shrugged apologetically towards the other women. She had simply said what she thought was best.
“You are new here, are you not?” one of the other women asked. She nodded.
“I am just passing through. It looks like you are having fun here.” Persephone waved her hand. She received similar waves from the other women.
“Me and Halie still say it needs more red,” one of the other women muttered.
“Then make your own dye and add as much red as you want,” another woman responded. Persephone smiled faintly before she felt a hand on her arm. She turned around to see the woman who had called out to her.
“I never got your name?” she asked. Persephone let out a quiet chuckle, though she was reluctant to give out her name or lie. As she studied the woman from this closer proximity, she got the same nagging sense of familiarity as before.
“I did not get your name, either,” Persephone replied, quickly collecting herself.
“Oh, of course. Do forgive me for not introducing myself in there. We just got carried away with the argument... my name is Eurycleia.”
“That is all right, it happens.” Persephone maintained her smile as she processed this new bit of information. Eurycleia. Iasion's mother. Grandmother...
Now that she knew, she was able to make the connection. She had always remembered Grandmother as old, already worn down by Ouranos's curse before her golden years became truly golden. Persephone had only to recall Grandmother and darken her hair and wipe most of the wrinkles, and here was the result in front of her. A vital-looking Eurycleia, her hands smooth rather than gnarled and arthritis-ridden, and her eyes sparkling with good cheer.
Like at her first glimpse of her dead father, Persephone found herself unable to speak. Yes, Grandmother had been old and all mortals must die, but it would be nice to have a warning before things like this happened!
She didn't want to say Kora, nor did she wish to announce the fact that she was Persephone, Queen of the Dead.
“I am... Seph.” Persephone replied quietly.
“Nice to meet you, Seph. How long have you been here?”
“Just... a few months, actually. You?”
“Almost two years. Just a few months, you say? You seem rather young...”
“I was.” Two years, hmm? Then Grandmother had lived a long life, indeed. She seemed content.
“Oh dear, what happened? Sometimes the transition can be quite... difficult.”
“I do not want to talk about it. I would rather hear your story. You seem happy here. How do you... find a job here?” she asked, indicating the white-washed building the studio occupied.
“You just do what you enjoy doing,” the older woman explained. Persephone nodded. Grandmother had enjoyed weaving, and she refused to allow arthritis to stop her from doing her craft even if it might be slow or painful. She was that kind of woman, stubborn and determined to do as she enjoyed and provide for her family. Persephone didn't enjoy weaving, but she enjoyed being with her grandmother and aunt, listening to them talk as she spun wool with them.
“There is enough for everyone to do. We do not have to worry about anything being in short supply or going to waste. There is always enough room for everyone, Elysium is like that.”
Persephone wondered how Grandmother's reunion was with the grandfather that had died decades ago. Grandmother had spoken of him often enough and what a wonderful father and husband he had been, and how proud she was of her sons, telling them that their father would be proud of them as well if they could see how they had turned out. “What about your family? Do you miss them?”
“Of course I do! But I lived a long life, and saw my sons grow up and have their own children. When I was growing up, it was very difficult with the poor land. I worried for my sons and husband, and he did die. But later on, it was as if a curse was lifted. The land became fertile, and I saw my children have children, and know they have it better than I did. There have been enough joys to make the sorrows bearable.”
“Any regrets?”
“When my husband died, life was very difficult for us. I was young and so focused on my own troubles and taking care of my children. I did not take the time to show my husband that I appreciated what he did for us. He became so sick and died, and I never got to tell him how I felt. But he was waiting for me here in Elysium, and I know that later on, my family will join me. Though my son...” A flash of sadness appeared on Eurycleia's face, and Persephone bit her lip, tempted to tell her about Iasion. But that would reveal too much. Let Eurycleia be happy here.
“What happened to your son?” the younger woman asked gently.
“He decided that this place was not enough for him. Oh, he explained to me why, and I suspected, even when he was still alive...”
“Sometimes people feel like they need to start over,” Persephone offered kindly.
“Oh, I know. And I do not begrudge him. I was thinking about it myself, but not for a long while yet. I'm simply enjoying it here too much and with my husband at my side and nothing to worry about...” She let out a wry laugh before she looked at Persephone. “You are new here and you have been through a lot, I am sure, but just relax and enjoy yourself here. You will figure out what you want to do.” She patted Persephone's arm.
“Thank you. That makes me feel a lot better.” She was happy to see her grandmother so comfortable.
“Do not hesitate to come back whenever you feel like it.” Her voice was warm and kind, just as Persephone remembered it, even if it was younger and clearer-sounding now.
Persephone actually pondered telling Eurycleia the truth, but hesitated. She had had such a nice time just now, learning a bit about her family – what she considered her real family, at least. Being with Eurycleia made her want to go to the surface world to see what was left of Iasion's family. How were her uncles and aunt doing? Had Eraphus found a wife of his own? And what of her cousins?
She walked down the path, feeling a bit light-headed when she thought about her mother's famine. Had it reached Enna? Were her uncles dealing with a famine? Were they still alive? Her eyes darted around, wary of the passersby. Would she see any more family members, or one of the people she remembered from her childhood?
Why would Mother do such a terrible thing? She had every right to be angry, but to cause people to starve... how could Mother decide that punishing the mortals in such a way for something they did not do could be a wise course of action? She pondered the things she had learned here and what Hades had told her about her position here. She, according to his own word and promise, was Queen of the Underworld, second only to him in power and position. She was the offspring of two old and very powerful gods, and knew that she had yet to explore the fullest extent of her Gift. She wasn't quite sure how, yet, but she was determined to dea
l with her situation and find a way to get what she – and nobody else – wanted for herself.
o0o
Hades reclined on a divan, feeling no need to hold Court or visit the judges or Kampe. The Lord of the Underworld had tried to distract himself with a ride in his chariot, but he found himself unable to enjoy the thrill of moving at breakneck speeds with the wind rushing through his hair. A trip to the library showed that he was unable to focus on reading, finding his mind wandering away from the letters in front of him. All he could think of was how he could earn her forgiveness. He had been more than willing to allow a reunion between mother and daughter, only Demeter was so damned stubborn and Zeus insisted on avoiding the blame. The truth was, everyone was at fault.
Except for Persephone herself, of course. She was only the innocent victim of a mother's over-protectiveness, a father's careless goodwill, and of course, his own decisions.
He looked up suddenly when the door to the terrace opened, admitting Persephone before she closed it quietly. Her hair looked a bit mussed and wind-blown, but it made her no less alluring. He swallowed thickly as he remembered the events of the night before, how incredible it had been, the delight he had gained from seeing how much she had enjoyed it. Whether she hated him or not, he would always be hers.
She rubbed her arms, and he raised his hands, offering her a warm embrace. She glanced at him for a moment, seeming as if she might reject him. To his surprise and relief, she moved forward, letting him wrap his arms around her. He tugged at his cloak, draping it around her shoulders and pulling her down to sit with him on the divan.
Persephone kept her hands in her lap, but let him place his head on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth that radiated from the fire and his body. It was just what she had longed for, the embrace of a warm body, to reassure her that she was still alive in this dead place.