The Taste Of Divinity

Ε Ι Κ Ο Σ Ι Δ Υ Ο

The flesh is weak.

And it succumbs easily.

Sometimes, when the world falls apart, the body will fall into the trap of being merely flesh unable to handle the pressure and the pain. In its desperation to protect, the body will steal all thoughts, all emotions, all words. It will fall asleep and leave behind only an empty vessel that stands on the line between shadow and light, between life and death.

Persephone slept for a long time.

And she slept by the side of her King, the man who had brought destruction into her world of everlasting spring, her eyes open wide, red and dry, a sob lodged somewhere deep inside her sore throat.

"I will take away your pain if you let me." She laughed at his words. It was a dry, broken sound, a croak more than anything. How could he make such promises when that day when she'd sat by the Lethe he'd stopped her from even dipping her fingers into the river?

Her hand had been mere centimetres away from the water when his sharp command had invaded her ears. "Don't touch the water!"

In liue of obeying and removing her hand in utter fright, as he'd expected her to do, she'd lowered it even further, taunting him perhaps with her insolence.

You're being childish, the voice in her head had whispered, mocking her. But a part of it also seemed amused, vaguely proud.

"Why shouldn't  I? Can Gods be affected?" She'd inquired as her hand fell further, watching him move closer from the corner of her eye.

He had been watching her, she could tell. He had been watching her all that time and the evidence lay discarded on the ground in the form of a crown of metal. Oddly enough, it didn't bother her.

His jaw had clenched tight as he'd taken hold of her wrist and raised her to her feet. He'd kept his eyes away from hers as though frightened he'd be turned to stone. "Let us not find out."

It had been good to see him so vexed.

But it soon faded and all that remained was that that perpetually cold and sorrowful expression of detachment he wore proudly like a diadem.

He could have taken away her pain then, if only he'd let her drink from the river.

She could have forgotten, she could have been free.

But he'd denied her.

"I'm tired." Persephone murmured, her breath hot against his neck, and on the other side of the realm Hypnos started weaving a dream meant only for her. "I'm so tired of everything. Pain, misery, despair, these are all new emotions and yet I feel as though I've carried them a thousand years."

Hades let his head fall back, pinning his eyes to the stars that stared disapprovingly at his hands on her body. They blamed him, the stars. They blamed him for her sorrow and her choked breaths, her misery.

He pretended not to care what they thought of him, drawing endless circles on the translucent fabric that did nothing to conceal the miles and miles of drenched pale flesh. "You should get some rest." He murmured softly. "I'll walk you to your room."

But he made no move to stand up, unable to deny himself the pleasure of having her in his arms.

"Not yet." Her fingers travelled to the amethyst brooch that held his himation and pulled at it lightly, as though to stop him from leaving. "I have questions. I need to know when it happened, how?" She inquired softly, lifting her cheek from his chest and looking at him straight in the eye.

Hades sighed, he did not respond. But Persephone was insistent. She asked again and again until her voice became louder than his terrible thoughts and the unbearing pounding of her chest. She grasped his face in her hand, her nails digging painfully into his skin. "When? I deserve to know."