The Taste Of Divinity

Ε Ι Κ Ο Σ Ι Ο Κ Τ Ω

Minutes later the doors opened and Minthe sashayed inside.

There was something calculating about the way she moved. It was in her purposely empty eyes with the sea of secrets, in her careful steps, in the way her hips swayed softly, seductively, moved by that non existent breeze that seemed to follow her blindly wherever she went. Her skirts molded into her long legs as her fingertips trailed up her thighs, the way they usually did when she was after something she knew she would never possess. Men. Power. Freedom.

That was not the same woman as before, Persephone noted as her tempestuous eyes came to embrace her. The fearful naiad of their last meeting had vanished and in her place stood a creature that loved to compete with the midnight sky.

Her bracelets--the bronze and silver ones, the ones that seemed to be glued to her flesh--played their never ending music. It was horrible sound, one that would make Apollo's lyre weep, one the deaf were fortunate not to experience. It was an obnoxious sound, almost as obnoxious as the sheer confidence that emanated off of her every step.

How arrogant of her, to carry herself as a victor while in the presence of the stars. Could she truly not see how she paled in comparison, how she would always lose, insignificant in the grand scheme of things as she was?

The Queen of flowers tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair, the familiar pattern breaking the nymph's self imposed trance. Minthe lifted her gaze for the first as she approached the granite dais, seeing Persephone perched on top of her throne, her golden wreath catching the light.

She realised then, who the stars shivered for.

At once, the wind dissolved and oxygen eluded her. She ceased her movements, becoming an even better statue than those guarding the room. Her lips gaped but no sound freed itself from them. Her fingers abandoned the dark gown that melted into her flesh. Shock replaced her mask.

After all, it had been the King she'd been expecting, not his Queen.

"Anassa?"

"Were you expecting someone else?" She inquired, her head tilting to the side as her nails pressed into the ebony and the metal, absently tracing the carvings that hid there. Words is what they were, words and symbols she did not wish to decipher.

Her nails dug deeper, hiding her emotions under the metal and the façade of her imperial mien. She didn't wish for the jealousy that found itself in her bloodstream. It made her feel human, weak. It wasn't an emotion that suited her, never mind what Aidoneus would think should he ever learn of it.

The naiad's bottom lip jutted out in thought. "To be honest, I do not know what I was expecting. I simply thought that after our last conversation you wouldn't want to speak with me, any longer."

Yes, for a while she'd thought so too. But Kyane's loss was still a dull knife in her lungs, preventing her from taking a single breath without feeling like the walls of her body were being painted gold.

She needed an imitation of the life she once had.

But there was no one she could call a friend in the Underworld. Not even he could ever be considered her friend, having already filled the position of her tormentor and darkest fantasy, the hope for an old dream that would never come to be reality.

Hekate had declared herself her friend but offered thinly veiled insults and truths Persephone was not prepared to hear. She resembled Kyane too much, in that regard and so, as it was natural, she did everything in her power to avoid her.

She didn't deem it wise to remain close to her, her whose grand theatrical performance had caused endless shivers and doubts to run down her spine, her whose loyalties lied within her own self.