Psyche felt her knees tremble as she walked closer to the goddess. Persephone had not moved an inch since looking in her direction, making Psyche think that she was looking at a statue and not the Queen of the dead. Her heart continued to pound in her chest as stepped ever so closer to the goddess. What would she say to convince the goddess to hand over the gift Aphrodite asked for? Would Persephone even care about the plight of a mortal? Had the goddess of love spoken the truth when she said that the lord and lady of the Underworld had already chosen a spot for her in their realm? Worse yet, the goddess might force Psyche to remain in the Underworld; she had descended into the Underworld without dying first, after all. And she might tell any mortal on the surface of how she got into the realm; that alone might convince people to try to come down and try to find their beloved dead.
She took several shaky breaths as she stopped in front of the goddess’s throne and came to her knees; the goddess’s eyes moved downward with Psyche. She took another breath and prayed to the gods that her words would be convincing enough to persuade the goddess to her cause, if she could find the courage to utter even a word. Why was it proving so hard at this moment to find the words to use and to convince her lips to open to speak them? Somehow she had been able to speak with Aphrodite no matter how angry the goddess had been at her. She had been able to speak of her plight to Demeter when prompted –that alone proved the gods could be kind. And the spirit of the tower had been kinder to her than the goddess of the grain, for he had gifted her with the coin she had needed to pay Charon for both trips across the river, assuming Persephone would let her return to the surface.
“What brings you to my husband’s realm, mortal?” the goddess asked.
The Queen of the dead sounded kind, gentle, and not like Psyche was just another short lived mortal animal. Psyche blinked and once more recounted her journey, from the moment she had found the offerings to Aphrodite outside her door the morning of her sisters’ wedding to her time with Eros in his palace to each task the goddess of love had commanded her to undertake. Not once did the goddess interrupt her or make her skip ahead; Persephone seemed interested in what she had endured. Was there hope? Did she have a chance to complete this one last task?
“The goddess of love has commanded me to ask a favor of you, my lady,” Psyche said. “She would have come herself if she could enter your husband’s realm. Her son Eros has been injured and caring for him has taken its toll upon Aphrodite. She begs that you might give her some beauty so she might be able to tend the gods on Olympus once more.”
“You are a brave one, mortal girl,” the goddess told her as she came to her feet, “just as brave as every other mortal who has come down to the Underworld.” Persephone took two steps in her direction. “They all sought to thieve away what rightfully belongs to my husband, but not you. I find that rather refreshing.” Psyche watched the goddess smile softly and extend her arms. “Give me the vessel my cousin sent down with you and wait here. I will return shortly with what Aphrodite has asked you to bring back to her.”
Psyche nodded. She opened the box and retrieved the last three cakes from inside and lifted the box up for the goddess to take. As the goddess vanished behind the thrones, Psyche took several deep breaths; she could not help but smile, too. She had succeeded to entering the Underworld, in reaching the goddess, and asking for a favor on Aphrodite’s behalf. Her heart calmed in her chest; she lifted a hand over her heart and felt the beating subside. As she bowed her head, she heard footsteps coming up beside her. She looked up to see one of the judges stop at her side.
