The Flower and the Abyss Part 1 (A retelling of Persephone and Hades' Story)

Chapter 1 - Summoned by Fate

*Aidoneus (Hades)*

The melodic chimes echoing through my chamber stirred me from my slumber. The chill of the underworld breeze, an ever-present companion, still gnawed at my immortal frame. As I rose, I cast my gaze upon the vacant side of my bed, a sole reminder of my solitude. My thoughts wandered to my brothers; each having found a wife to share the weight of their realms. A hint of longing crept into my consciousness as I contemplated whether a queen would ever grace the underworld's throne by my side. The prospect of enduring an unending solitude in my immortal existence weighed heavily on me, a heavy loneliness that hung in the air like a dust roaming free.

Each dawn unfolded with the commencement of my daily routine. I would rise from my rest and proceed directly to the regal confines of my throne room, where the solemn duty of adjudicating the souls awaited me. It fell upon my shoulders to discern their destinies, whether to ascend to the Elysium, traverse the Asphodel Meadows, or descend into the darkest recesses of the underworld, Tartarus. This existence, a repetitive tableau, had become my norm, a reality I'd grown accustomed to. The weight of responsibility pressed upon me, aware that without my discernment, the souls would wander aimlessly in the vast expanses of my underworld, devoid of guidance.

Judging the souls was no facile task; it demanded impartiality and fairness. Yet, accompanying this solemn duty came a tide of animosity, not just from mortal souls but also from many gods and goddesses. To them, I personified demise, a harbinger of their inevitable fate. It was a misconception that vex me — for I was not the god of death. That title belonged to my friend, Thanatos, who shared the somber realm with me. Despite having fought alongside fellow gods and goddesses against the Titans, a subtle distance emerged since my ascent to the throne of the underworld. A pervasive belief circulated that I possessed the authority to vanish unruly divine entities in Tartarus at my whims. This notion, however, was nothing more than a fabrication, a jest propagated by my brothers for their own amusement but as the oldest brother I let them have their laugh.

The creaking of the door on my right jolted me from my duties of passing judgment on the mortals and interrupted the flow of my thoughts. "My liege, the messenger god is outside," Lyca, one of the shades who had pledged her loyalty to me and now served as my head handmaiden, informed me. "Ask him to wait until I finish here," I replied, diverting my attention momentarily to a sobbing mortal soul on the floor. Unfortunately, Lyca persisted, "I'm afraid he insisted it's a matter of great importance. A message from the Fates." My focus snapped back to her words. I rose promptly from my throne, a sense of urgency compelling me to step outside and confront what had interrupted the routine of my underworld domain.

Seated on one of the benches adjacent to my lifeless garden was Hermes. As he observed my approach, he rose to his feet and greeted me, "Uncle, it has been a while." I offered a nod in acknowledgment, asking, "I heard you have an important message for me, nephew?"

His response carried a peculiar tone, laced with casual irreverence. "Yes, I do. From the Fates, but first, a question. Why bother with a garden when not a single flower can bloom in this desolate place? Moreover, the plants that thrive here are far from pleasant to the eye—" My proximity silenced him abruptly as I moved closer, a subtle intimidation tactic. "Be careful about disrespecting my domain, child," I warned. Hermes recoiled, visibly startled.

Regaining composure, he adjusted his posture, acknowledging, "Again, I have a message. The Fates want to see you, alone and discreetly. They emphasized the need for discretion, stating that only we should be privy to the details of your visit." I turned away, facing my barren garden.

The Fates had never summoned me before, claiming an inability to perceive my future veiled in mist. Why now, I wondered. Something must have shifted. "Alright, I need to go. And remember, the secret meeting is a secret," he quipped sarcastically before swiftly departing. Hermes, the sole god frequenting the underworld, was entrusted by all deities to deliver confidential messages, and not even Zeus could coerce him into revealing their contents.

A lingering question gnawed at me: Why had the Fates chosen Hermes as their messenger? Numerous shades, loyal and in service to me, roamed the underworld. The Fates could have easily employed them as conduits for their message.

Returning to my throne room, I resumed the solemn task of judging mortals. It had been a while since I stepped out of the confines of the palace, and an unsettling anticipation lingered in the air.

*Kore (Persephone)*

A gentle hand roused me, accompanied by my mother's soft voice, "It's time to wake up, my dear Kore." With a smile, I rose from my slumber, realizing that, once again, I had dozed off beneath the comforting shade of my pomegranate tree.

As we strolled together, I couldn't help but ponder why she sought my help when tending to the crops appeared well within her capabilities. The natural world of the mortal realm had always yielded to her manipulation and control effortlessly. The simplicity of this task in her hands contrasted with the mysterious need for my involvement. Nevertheless, I followed alongside, ready to lend a hand in the rhythm of the mortal realm's cycles.

The nymphs were invaluable allies, contributing to the ease of our work in the fields. While the tasks were simple for us, they held immense significance for the humans who relied on our efforts for their crops. Once the labor was complete, we began the journey back to our house.

When the house came to view, a man caught my eye. Seated casually by a tree, his short brown hair and Olympian robe revealed him to be Hermes. A smile naturally adorned my face. Interactions with gods were rare, as my mother maintained a protective distance, making each sighting a source of satisfaction for me. As he noticed our approach, Hermes rose, a friendly grin spreading across his features. "Demeter," he addressed my mother first, then turned to me with a smirk, "Kore." Mother instinctively positioned herself in front of me, shielding me from Hermes's view. Curiosity painted my mother's query as she asked, "What brings you here, messenger?" Hermes, with a nonchalant air, replied, "A message from Zeus. She wants both of you to go to Olympus to meet him." The unexpected summons added an element of intrigue to our routine, and I awaited my mother's response with a mix of anticipation and curiosity.

My heart raced, a rapid cadence echoing my apprehension. My father's rejection was a lingering pain; he had never desired to see me. To compound matters, he remained oblivious to the fact that my existence was a consequence of a dark act – a violation that left him resentful. My mother, astute as ever, speculated, "I assume he did not disclose the reason?" Hermes, bearing the weight of unspoken truths, merely nodded.

Later, as night cloaked the world, I lay on my bed, feigning sleep to evade any conversation. My mother, whose love was manifested through an overprotective shield, entered my room. A subtle shift in the mattress betrayed her presence. Her touch on my shoulder, usually comforting, sent an icy chill through me, triggering involuntary shivers. I opened my eyes to find not my mother, but a shadowy figure seated beside me.

Curiosity outweighed fear, and my body, oddly unafraid, responded to the enigmatic figure. As we locked eyes, my heart quickened, his handsome form radiating warmth. I reached for his ethereal hand, cold yet oddly soft. My mother's voice pierced the moment, calling from beyond the door. The shadow figure dissipated like smoke.

Choosing silence, I dwelled on the encounter. This figure, unseen before, drew a peculiar connection to my infancy when the Fates visited. They bestowed upon me the name Persephone, a title my mother reluctantly accepted. Their prophetic words lingered, foretelling a meeting with someone willing to burn the world for me. Was the shadowy presence a harbinger of this imminent encounter? The idea of someone setting the world ablaze for my sake puzzled me. It fueled my mother's protective instincts, fearing this prophecy might unfold. Truth be told, the notion left me uneasy and apprehensive about what lay ahead.