Death's Delight

The Possession

Demeter reaches the meadow just as Hades takes a final caress. In one moment she sees everything: Hades, the corrupter, and Persephone, her beautiful daughter, their bodies intertwined in stolen passion.

A scream tears itself from her throat: a scream of fury and despair. She calls down a thousand curses on Hades’ name, demanding that the seas rise up to swallow him, that lightning strikes him down, that the underworld itself will not accept his tortured soul.

But her curses are in vain; with a snap of his fingers, Hades freezes her in place, leaving her to watch, a helpless spectator, as the earth opens its maw and he is swallowed whole, dragging Persephone down with him.

Once they are gone and the enchantment is released, Demeter stumbles over to the closed fissure in the earth and pounds her fists against the ugly scar of rock and raised soil.

She scrapes desperately at the stones until her muscles shriek in protest. She covers her face, leaving bloody handprints across her cheeks.

Her rasping sobs echo throughout the meadow, and every living thing echoes her lament.

Then, as quickly as it came, her despair is gone, replaced by cold, cruel, wrath.  

“You will pay for this, Hades,” she vows, and raises her blazing eyes to the heavens. “By the river Styx, you will pay!”

Persephone feels the force of her mother’s oath, even far underground on the path to the underworld. Hades drives a chariot tinged with wispy blue flames and hauled by four midnight-black chargers.

The passion of seduction is beginning to wear away, and self-loathing takes its rightful place. Persephone is defiled; unclean. She hates her own beauty, hates the man who stole her innocence; hates the dark magic that forced her to comply with his demands.

More than anything, she hates her sudden dependence on him. The rough road requires her to cling to him, fingers scrabbling over his chest to find a handhold on his armor. She can tell he relishes her touch, and she wants to draw away in repulsion.

“Not much longer,” he murmurs, “Until we will be home.”

“Your home?” her voice is a tremulous whisper in the darkness.

“Not only mine. Everything I possess is now yours, Persephone. We will share the underworld as our home.” 

“My home is in the meadow.”

He tenses with suppressed anger. “Your home was in the meadow!”

 The savage tone of his voice keeps her from speaking again, and they ride on in silence.

As they descend, they pass through a craggy canyon with ghostly figures lingering on the rocks. One of the spectral women reaches out to Persephone; her vaporous fingers brush the girl’s cheek, sending a shiver up and down her spine.

She can stay silent no longer. “Hades, who are these people?”

“They are not people, but souls. Lost souls.”

“Why are they so lost? Do not all souls belong in either Elysium, or Tartarus?”

At the sound of his mocking laughter, the souls skitter into crags and caverns. “Ha! Your ignorance betrays you, girl.”

“Then heal my ignorance, and answer my questions!”

He shakes his head, his dark hair glistening in the light from the false moon above their heads. “I’ll answer what questions I see fit.”

A curse brings itself to Persephone’s lips, but just as she mouths the first syllable, he cuts her off. "Spitting swear words at the lord of the underworld would be most unwise, girl."

She clenches her teeth, resentment and fear battling for dominance.

Fear, of course, wins out, and she falls back into bitter silence.

To himself, Hades smiles. This is what he excels at – fear-mongering, dominance, raw cynicism and coldness. And now he has a girl, frightened into submission, clinging unwillingly to him in the back of his chariot.

Hades cannot feel joy.

But this is pretty damn close.