Demeter is roaming through a field of wheat, walking among the stalks, looking after them with a mother’s watchful eye. The Goddess of Harvest finds peace here in the rolling golden waves, away from the commotion of Olympus.
Peace – a thing so rare, yet so needed. Peace falls over Demeter like a satin curtain as she lies back onto a cushion of wheat. The blue sky stretches endlessly above her, marred only by wisps of cloud and the gentle, beaming sun.
The silence is heavy, weighing down upon her ears, enshrouding her in a veil of solitude.
Heaving a sigh of absolute contentment, Demeter closes her eyes and begins to slumber.
Suddenly, there comes a flash and a whirl of dark energy, and she is awoken to a cacophony of unpleasant sights and sounds.
Hades, the god of the underworld, is strolling through her field. The wheat withers and dies where he steps. The clear blue sky turns black and stormy. Peals of thunder and lightning destroy the pleasant stillness.
Demeter starts up, fear and repulsion spurring her every movement. “Hades,” she spits. “What business do you have in my fields?”
“I have no business in your fields.” His voice is ebony silk, and he reeks of roses and rotting bodies. “My business concerns you, Demeter.”
“What business could you have with me?”
He pauses, regarding her with a reptile’s eyes. “Your daughter.”
At that, Demeter tenses, the fear in her eyes replaced by a mother’s defensive fury. “Stay away from Persephone.”
He raises a contemptuous eyebrow. “Why should I?”
“If you so much as touch a hair on her head, I will send you to the underworld and make certain you stay there this time.”
Now he laughs, a sound resembling the thunder, tinged with malicious lightning. “I am the god of the underworld, woman; you cannot threaten me with death.”
“There are worse things than death.”
“But you have no authority over those punishments.”
“Zeus does.”
“Zeus will not dare set his will against mine. I am the strongest brother, and he knows it.”
“I will call for Poseidon, then.”
“Poseidon is a coward!” At his shout, the heavens tremble with forceful thunder. “I will have your daughter, Demeter. Persephone will be mine. Will you give her to me now, or will I take her from you later?”
Demeter steps into his face, ignoring how high he towers above her. “Listen, you underworld scum,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “I will fight for my daughter for every moment of every day.”
His smile is ice, and his words drip venom: “Be prepared for battle.”
YOU ARE READING
Death's Delight
FantasyPersephone dances through the meadow, her unkempt curls streaming out behind her like a russet waterfall; her green eyes alight with the fire of youth. She throws back her head and sings a prayer, her voice surpassing the calls of songbirds and the...
