You've heard the story of how Persephone fell in love with Hades.
You've heard the story of how Hades kidnapped Persephone.
But you've never heard the real story.
Persephone fell in love with a girl, a demigod named Haliae.
Dawn finds me in my cot with open eyes, sweat beading on my forehead as I fend off a nightmare. I sit up, throwing my covers to the side as I get up to pace the room. I feel caged and helpless, a dove whose life isn't in my own hands.
This sort of feeling is new to me, as I've always found a way to do what I want, whether or not there are consequences.
On my fifth circle of the small tent, my reflection catches my gaze in my peripheral vision. I frown at the mirror, remembering how my council members had put it in the tent as a joke, believing any daughter of Aphrodite would need to see herself at all times.
I stalk up to the mirror, green eyes blazing, and stop when I see my hair, falling around my face in perfect Hollywood curls. My eyes flit to my sword, and a wicked grin spreads across my face.
I grip the handle, feeling the weight in my palm as I tug a lock of hair away from my face.
The sword is forged from quicksilver, made by Hephaestus for his wife when they first married. Aphrodite had never found need for a sword, nor had any of her children, until me. My mother had gifted me the weapon on my tenth birthday, and I spent years mastering the art of swordsmanship.
The mercury stills moves, as if under a barrier of glass, and the light coming in from the tent's opening bounces off of the metal.
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The silver light aids me in my mission as I make quick work of my hair. When I'm finished, locks of cherry-stained curls lay at my feet, and I am lighter in every sense.
I smile at my reflection. The girl smiling back at me looks more like the person I truly am.
......
The war council clearly does not feel the same way. Every pair of eyes is on me as I enter the tent, mouths hanging open in amusing displays of shock.
Lilliana appears at my side, stifling her laughter. "Nice hair, General."
I smile, barely perceivable to the room. "You think so? Not too much?"
Lilliana laughs at my sarcasm, "I think it suits you perfectly. I'm surprised at how clean the cut is. Who did it?"
I pat my sword, sheathed at my hip. "Good old Silver Tongue."
Lilliana only looks shocked for a moment before she schools her features. "Why does that not surprise me? Shall we start the meeting, General?"
My smile disappears and she nods curtly, walking to the head of the table centered in the tent, quieting the commotion.
The white cloth walls seem smaller today, more suffocating, and the war council has stopped staring.
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