Persephone and Hades

VIII

Persephone sat at the dining room table, a cup of warm tea held between her hands. Dishevelled hair, her eyes barely open, she took a sip of the warm liquid — lavender, chamomile, thyme, rosemary; she tasted it all as the tea ran down her throat and warmed her chest and stomach. Her mother had woken her from a deep sleep, yelling about how Persephone had been thrashing and crying and beating at her bed. She couldn't remember the dream she had been having, it had left her the moment her eyes had focused on her mother's concerned face.

'You've been so distant, daughter. What has been on your mind?' Demeter questioned, moving about the kitchen. Persephone had no intention of telling her mother the truth, for she knew that the woman would, quite literally, explode. She took a moment to glance out the window, trying to collect her thoughts, trying to come up with a good reason, with something that her mother would believe.

'Nothing, mother. I've been working on certain things for the next Spring Gathering, it has been rather time consuming and has occupied the majority of my thoughts for some time.' Persephone kept her gaze away from her mother; she was sure her mother would be able to discern that she was lying, but she had no desire to bring the Forget-Me-Nots, Hades, or their affair to her mother's attention.

'Alright, child. Have you gathered your dress for the Harvest?' Demeter questioned. Persephone wanted nothing more than to hide in her room, to lock her door, dive into her books, gaze out the foggy window into the misty morning light at the dew that clung to the leaves and petals of their garden. She had no desire to discuss the Harvest with her mother, she had no reason to attend the the festival, aside from her mother being one of the many guests of honour. Her shoulders slumped and she looked down at her half empty cup.

'Yes, mother. I have chosen a dress. May I be excused?'

Demeter glanced over her shoulder at her daughter, at her eyes ringed in darkness, at her sunken cheeks, at her thin arms — her daughter seemed to be wasting away before her, and it was apparent that the young girl had not been focusing entirely on the next Spring Gathering. 'Yes, of course. Perhaps you should get some sleep.'

Persephone left the table, left her cup, and walked on skeletal legs to the stairs that led to her room. She did not stop to smile at her mother, she did not stop at all. She placed her hand on the banister railing and took each stair one at a time, taking extreme care as to not fall, to not stumble on her weak legs.

She closed the door behind her, turned the bolt to lock it in place, and she glanced at the plant flowering next to her bed — a dozen new blooms had appeared in the amount of time it had taken her to leave and come back. She crawled under the white sheets, laid her head on the pillow, and dangled her arm over the side of the bed, her fingertips brushing the blossoms.

Even she had noticed the difference in her health, she was not at all blind to the effect Hades had had on her. However, her health was nothing compared to the rush she received whenever a new bloom sprouted on the plant beside her, nor to the feeling of his fingers against her skin, her hand in his, the feeling of being the only thing he could see when he looked at her.

She made the observation that she was willing to die for him, that if it meant she could spend day after day with him, she would gladly waste away to nothingness under her white sheets, beside her Forget-Me-Not blossoms. She would take her last breath if it meant waking in his arms, seeing his face when she opened her eyes.