The Taste Of Divinity

Ε Ι Κ Ο Σ Ι Ε Ν Α

She walked away, leaving him to celebrate his torment alone. Her strides were long, reflecting a confidence she did not possess in her unearthly body, not at that moment, when disgust at her easy surrender filled her veins and stole the breath from her lungs, not while her chest heaved with repulsion at her response to his words, at her body's need for his touch.

It had taken everything in her to leave him there, knowing that the misery drove him crazy. Her misery, his, it did not matter who it belonged to. She shouldn't care. No, she shouldn't care if his lungs filled with black water and his ears rang with memories. She shouldn't care, but she did.

And she hated herself for it.

Had he already returned to his Kingdom of Shadows while she strolled aimlessly around his gardens, wearing her dirty gown and fighting against what little sanity still hid under her flesh, hypnotised yet more lucid than ever? She wondered, Or did he remain on the spot she'd left him at, basking?

She pretended not to care once again, walking around for a long time, moving deeper and deeper into unfamiliar parts of his world, desperately seeking to extinguish the fire from her sizzling skin.

And she found it, hidden behind a vast expanse of weeping willows.

She found comfort in the clear coloured water which the coppery sand adorned even though the sight of her reflection terrified her. Her hair, now dark as the night, lay over her breasts, coiled like the snakes that adorned Medusa's head. There was something feral in her eyes, something that spoke of an animal that wanted to escape its cage and run free until there was no breath left in its lungs.

"You obeyed your body and not your mind. What were you thinking?" She scolded her reflection but the lion that stared back at her did nothing but gaze solemnly. "You were weak. You betrayed your mother."

I swear by the Styx, the witness of oaths that gods make, as I say this. I will remain in your Kingdom. . .

The reflection did nothing but mirror her movements. It expressed no emotions. It felt no shame for the actions of its mistress.

And rule beside you, until the day I finally return to my home.

How ashamed she would be of you, her subconscious snarled before reason prevailed.

Would she be, reason inquired, doubt marring its tone, would she be ashamed of me when all I ever did was mime her own faults?

The answer was simple enough to guess.

Demeter would be ashamed of herself, not her.

It made her feel even more wretched. It made disgust run around the soft tissue of her bones, and force its way into her bloodstream, moving straight into her heart, closing all the arteries and leaving her to suffocate while still breathing.

"You are stronger than this." Her body seemed to disagree, fingers trailing down the length of her shapely thighs. It took all the self control she possessed not to give in to the illusion and pretend it was his hands on her. His vile hands that still smelled like pomegranates. "He has no hold over you, nothing ties you together."

Why do you keep lying, Persephone? His voice echoed inside her head as peaceful waves echoed in her ears.

Why, indeed.

How much longer could she survive on illusions and the memory of nectar?

Her hands returned to their sides.

She had no power left in her to fight the improper emotions and so, she gave in.

She walked into the water with her himation and chiton on, too fervent to care about the consequences of her actions, too fervent to notice her surroundings. It was soothing, the cool water extinguishing the flames dancing underneath her skin. The fires died but the ashes of all they burned remained hidden beneath the surface.