The Taste Of Divinity

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It was afternoon, perhaps or maybe even late morning. Not that it particularly mattered, time had never seemed to hold any meaning in the meadow of everlasting Spring.

After all, time was useless when skin burned under the Sun, who never ceased to glare on bodies of flesh and limestone with a type of ferocious hunger that could never be accurately described with words.

Time meant nothing to the daughter of Spring who was lying idly on the grass by the wild amaranth and the vibrant crocuses, exhausted, her hair pooling around her like a golden halo of dying Sunrays. The wet grass engulfed her in its arms, comforting her scorching flesh the way a lover would while marking her for all the world to see, leaving stains on her pale coloured chiton and skin.

Her tireless friends had long since scattered around the clearing by then, leaving her all alone, exposed and vulnerable as yet another long day slowly came to an end.

And she slept, there on the verdant green grass. Blissfully unaware of the darkness staining her kingdom of light, she slept.

She slept for seconds, minutes, hours until painfully sweet echoes called her name and forced her awake. How freely they took that word in their mouths, how softly it rolled off their tongues. Were they not afraid of its power? Of the sweet honey that dripped on each letter?

No, it appeared they were not for they never ceased calling her, never ceased disturbing her, dragging her away from her colourless dreams even when it was evident that she was ignoring them.

She slept for days, weeks, months until the Sun fell from the sky and softly kissed the dark, seemingly peaceful sea. How cruel a ruler he was, setting her waters on fire and how soft a lover, extinguishing them with the mere touch of his lips.

Perhaps, she didn't sleep at all, her expression of bliss shattering in the blink of an eye and the flutter of a butterfly. Perhaps, the voices had never stopped and she'd only imagined the loud voice of silence lulling her senses to a state of numbness, vaguely reminiscent of slumber. She would never know for the voices called out her name again and again until it no longer carried any meaning and her mind held no thoughts.

Eventually, Persephone was forced to stand and wander over to the mischievous creatures with the soft forms and shrill voices, unaware of the two obsidian eyes following her every move, staring intently as any common predator did with its prey.

❁❁

Aidoneus watched as the wind caressed her wheat coloured hair, playfully tossing it around her uncovered arms.

His lips still burned from the kiss he didn't give her.

Her spider-woven chiton of rain drops stuck to her skin, outlining the soft curves of her form as she moved to her friends' side. The light reflected on the dying Sunrays that had made the decision to abandon their burning home and find solace in her giving the illusion of a crown of melted gold.

It was pure agony to witness that sight and battle the vile thoughts that immediately attempted to possess his mind. That image alone was enough to make him wonder how she'd look with a crown of gold that matched his own upon her head. It made his breath catch, indescribable need filling his aureate veins as he imagined his own fingers playing with strands of her hair.

Briefly.

Perpetually.

The Lord of the Dead brought his hands to caress his crown but came in contact with cool metal, instead. For a moment, it seemed he'd forgotten he'd been wearing his helmet and not his diadem. His fingers curled around the base, lifting it ever so slightly when he hesitated, dropping his long, quivering fingers and leaving the helmet on, remaining unseen and continuing to stare.