❛THEY WOULD TELL YOU OF A KING WHO STOLE ME HELPLESS FROM MY SUNSHINE GARDEN.❜
They won't tell you about the woman who came to him sublime, lily eyes and lily lips. A king does not ask permission from his prize, but she, oh she, she knelt, kissing m...
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GATE OF HADES, THE UNDERWORLD.
HADES
"WHY, I DO BELIEVE THEY GET FEISTIER BY THE DAY," CHARON CLICKED HIS DUSTY TONGUE.
"Shut up," I snapped at him. "It's not even funny."
Around us, the last boat of spirits for the day was finally ashore, full to the brim with horrified, protesting souls. Charon sank his oars into a corner of the inky black rocks, tipping his hat to Persephone.
"My Queen," he rasped, a tiny smirk curling on his lips. "More souls for you to judge. Very fresh."
"Why, thank you," she shot him a gracious smile, cheeks turning the colour of an autumn rose.
"No greetings for me, old man?" I cut in, slightly annoyed at watching another make her blush so.
"Why, my Lord. Of course not. Unlike my lady of the undead, your face ain't lovelier than the rising moon," he chuckled, his tongue clicking in a series of annoyed rasps. Persephone let out a mirthful laugh, joining the ferryman.
"I-"
"You may continue your flirting in private quarters, men. I have work to do," she muttered, slipping out of our locked embrace, moving to the boats.
The screeching of the wailing souls quietened as she approached, the glittering waters of Charon's rivers lapping at the hem of her robes like an obedient puppy. Even the trembling ripples of the water seemed to part for her as she approached the boat of waiting spirits.
"Please - please..." one of them shuddered, his face a moving swirl between smoke and flesh. "Please..."
"Shh," Persephone cooed, her voice a soft lullaby. "It's alright. It's okay."
"Please..." the young man clutched at her hand, weeping fitfully, voice breaking in gasps. I hurried to her side as she cupped his chin, tipping his face up to meet her eyes. "Please... my lady. Leave me go - my mother - my mother has no one to provide for her. She will starve," he whispered.
"The plague took him," Thanatos got off the boat, removing his leather gloves. "The mother is bedridden - no one to look after her."
Persephone's hand was gentle on the boy's cheek.
"I will take care of her," she promised. "She will not want for nourishment. I give you my word," her voice was heavy and sincere, each word honest.
"Perse-," I began softly.
"I am your Queen, my lord," she turned to me, the grene of her eyes more vivid and tender than the first shoots of spring grass. "Trust me on this."
Smitten as I was, I relented with a resigned nod. Alright.
We spent the next couple of hours at the gates, reassuring the frightened, calming the head - my hands on their brow, taking away all their fears. But they were scared. Scared of my hand, my fingers, the paleness of them. The coldness of them. But Persephone - no. They adored her. They worshipped her. They fell to her feet, confessing to their sins, begging for mercy. Her touch was a balm, soft and deadly and gentle - like a restful night's sleep.
