Hades and Persephone

iii

There's something about the darkness and wildness to Persephone that he just can't resist.

...

It's been a while since Hades has seen Persephone. He figures it best he distance himself - life and death do not belong together. He would cause the greatest controversy of all time. So he stays underground.

He plays catch-the-corpse with Cerberus. Unwillingly, Cerberus is the only light in his life. The stupid fluffy thing is annoyingly endearing.

Sometimes, he visits and starts an argument with Charon simply for human interaction. Hestia has been gone for over ten years now, and Hades is lonelier and more deprived of contact than Sisyphus and his god-damned boulder. It's gotten so bad he literally went on a date and put out - with Thanatos.

Every time Thanatos sees him now, he winks.

Hades would rather not talk about it.

...

It's not until spring again that he sees Persephone.

She's shot up multiple inches, her hair a golden red, and this time he's close enough to see her bright green eyes.

She's bathing with her maidens.

Hades doesn't understand why the goddesses need to bathe in big lakes filled with mucky fish with all their friends. He'd think they would've called it quits when Artemis turned a guy into a deer because of it. He's conflicted over whether or not he minds though - after all, he can see the clean lines of Persephone's back and wet curls draping over her breasts.

He's suddenly oh-so-comparable to a teenage boy.

Hades wasn't creepily stalking her or anything. He's on his way to a conference on Olympus, something to do with a net made of solid gold. Strange.

He doesn't understand why Persephone is so persistent upon hanging around the entrances to the underworld. It's been a couple hundred years since he was at her birth celebration, she should know better. Or is Demeter really as ditsy as suggested?

Hades slips past, averting his eyes. Or trying to, at least.

...

Persephone and her friends would occasionally slip into the woods, giddy with defying her mother about the supposed danger. They would frolic in the the meadows, flowers sprouting where her feet touched the ground, daisy chains atop their heads and grass stems in their hair.

Hades manages to ignore them. It's not too hard, once he locks himself in his palace and busies himself designing punishments for the truly evil.

Until one day, he's returning from Olympus. They have far too many banquets to be productive rulers, and every time he's forced to go, like the antisocial god of the dead he is. Most times, he drinks alcohol in the corner with Athena, until Artemis gets her drunk enough to dance. Come to think of it, Olympus conferences are pretty much just an excuse to get drunk.

Speaking of which, Hades is a little tipsy. The sky is lit up with orange Christmas lights, and his undead charioteers are wearing red lipstick. A deadly combination of ambrosia and tequila is not something he recommends.

His chariot stumbles, burning wheels grazing the tips of trees, who whither away at the contact. The nymphs are too afraid to appear and scold him - stereotypes and alcohol is a fairly awful combination.

Hades is a bad drunk. His low alcohol tolerance and his penchant for illness  leads to a mixture of slurred words and wicked headaches. In general, it makes him feel sick.

Which is why it's not a good idea to run into Persephone alone in the woods, who is the epitome of a twenty-two year old human virgin. While Hades himself may be thousands of years old, he's never physically nor emotionally aged past his mid-twenties; and it appears, neither has Persephone.

Persephone is never alone. She's consistently chaperoned by her mother or surrounded by her countless friends. But today she's alone.

Hades doesn't think to look a few miles away because there is one furious mother and seventeen terrified handmaidens searching for a certain MIA goddess.

Persephone's hair is in a wild mess. There are twigs in her hair and dirt smudges on her collarbones. Her shoes are missing and her dress is wet. But she looks positively giddy.

There's wilderness in her forest green eyes, a spontaneity in the whips of her head back and forth. Hades is too inebriated to figure out why.

The malevolent voice is back. It whispers, writhing between Hades' ears and hissing to be heard.

Hades doesn't stop this time. There's something about the darkness and wildness to Persephone that he just can't resist. His chariot clatters messily  to the ground, mere yard away from Persephone. She startles, whirling around, eyes wide with shock. His chariot jounces over a rock, but he doesn't stop. Before Persephone can even think to run away, Hades is next to her. A single arm around her waist, he yanks her into his chariot and the earth splits. She doesn't make sound except for a soft gasp as the dirt closes over her head. Death and life both disappear into the darkness.