The garden leaves embraced Persephone as she made her way through the roses to the sunflowers, to the lilies waiting at the end of her way. The daughter of Zeus and Demeter could be nothing but in love with nature, and her afternoons were not wasted anywhere else but at her garden, where her mother kept her, away from “the ones who wanted her so badly,” she said. But who would want someone like Persephone? She was no one special. She loved flowers, she loved the warm breeze against her skin, but she was no one. She knew nothing of the world, and if the gates to the one below remained closed, she never would.
When asked if she was happy, however, she complied. Why would she turn her beloved mother’s smile upside down? It would do no good. But as the sun died every night to let the moon live for her limited hours, Persephone wasted her sleep thinking about the possibilities and the things that could never be. Always vouch for the impossible, her friend Artemis had told her. It was easy for her to say. With a bow and arrow in hands and bravery in her chest, everything came easily. Artemis was a beast, a lion. She had the will, the had the power, the strength, the claws. Persephone was a flower, watered by her own tears.
The impossible awaited for her anyhow, if she wasn’t yet ready to go after it. Not even a week later, as the girl spotted a different breed of flowers just beyond the limits of her garden, her curiosity got the best of her. As she looked above her shoulder, her mother slash jailer was nowhere to be found, and on a quick move, she reached for it, but after that, she saw nothing. The branch was faulty you see, it gave out. Persephone fell along with it, deep into the darkness of the Underworld. But before she hit the ground, someone embraced her like the garden leaves did. Her eyes were already closed, she was unconscious, and for that Hades was glad. He wore his true form, and he did not want the beauty gifted to him by nature to see him that way. His skin was raw and pale, horns came out of the sides of his head, like a true damned creature that should never be granted to see the light. But there he was, holding light itself in his arms. It was love at first sight, he couldn’t know how he was able to tell, or how someone like him was even capable of such a feeling, but he knew it.
Persephone moved, not much, but she moved. At ease, Hades commanded that his servants took her to the best room available, that they gave her the best treatment, to show Persephone the kingdom that might as well be hers. And so they did. She woke up to fabulous meals, to countless dresses waiting for her to pick from, and nameless servants who were there only to please and obey. Not for a moment she thought about her mother or the flowers she was so used to; this was unknown territory, all she had dreamed of. The two servants — who she decided to simply call one and two — showed her everything that there was to be seen. The rivers, the mountains, the never ending stairs, even the throne that was empty as she passed. She sat gracefully on the fine marble and asked, “Who does this belong to?”
The creatures hesitated, but after a second, Two answered, “To the King, my lady. The King of the Underworld.”
One shook his head. “We can’t…”
“The moment I woke up you told me he wanted you to show me everything I asked you to. And here I am, Persephone, Daughter of Zeus and Demeter, asking you to see the one who set me free.”
Meanwhile on the Earth above, the mother she once loved so deeply searched for her in every shadow of every man. Without flowers nor food growing from the ground, the mortals were dying. What an irony, you see, for the land of the dead had never been more vivid. The ending to this fairytale is what many people would expect. After much struggle Hades agreed to meet with his love, and much to his surprise, she didn’t ask to be sent back. She didn’t run, she didn’t scream. He looked like the monster her mother painted him out to be at first, but as their lips touched, she saw him the way only she could. Beauty is nothing but what you make it out to be; for so long she thought of her garden as phenomenal, but now it paled it comparison to him, his kingdom, and all the possibilities that lied ahead. All she had to do was stay.
Word around was that she would have many more people to rule if the number of the dead kept increasing. It was all her fault, their fault. She was Persephone, daughter of Zeus and Demeter— the life-bringer. She brought life to the Underworld, to Hades, and now she had to do the same for the ones above. She knew she had to go back, but this was no goodbye. The throne was theirs to share, and so was their love.
All he left her with was a promise and a fruit. “I’ll be waiting,” and a pomegranate.
Who could ever learn to love a beast, they always wonder. But has the question “who could ever teach a beast how to love” ever been asked out loud?
tangentwithtanner
izzy806
baratheonpilled
