I attempt to avoid Hades, but I’ve learned him since falling in the river, and his kingdom is a part of him—he can feel where I am, as if I were trailing my fingers across his skin. He could find me if he wanted to.
As I start toward my desolate garden, he appears in the hallway. I think about turning around, but his eyes capture mine and I can’t look away. The King of the Dead has eyes like the universe—vibrant, alive, vast. I am lost in them and all they promise.
He offers his arm and I take it, because more than wanting to avoid him, I crave his touch.
We walk into what is supposed to be the garden, but is only black dirt. A reminder of my failure that I have not managed to create life here—nothing I plant sprouts, everything I water drowns.
Everyone I help, suffers.
I don’t finish my sentence, I don’t need to. Hades knows what I am asking. Has Eurydice made it back to the Underworld?
Silence stretches between us. I don’t know what to say except that I am sorry. That I should have listened.
“I want,” Hades starts, but pauses and does not look at me. He tries again, “I need to…apologize. For yesterday.”
I slow and finally stop, turning to face him.
“How can I expect you to trust me when I give you no reason? I should have told you the consequences of returning Eurydice to life.”
I stare at him for a long moment, and then realize I haven’t said anything.
“T-thank you. I…I should have trusted you…if not as Hades, as the ruler of this realm.”
His next question steals my breath. “What would it take? For you to trust me as Hades?”
I do trust you—but I can’t say that because I’m a prisoner here.
He stares at me for a long moment.
“You fought for Eurydice because you were fighting for love,” he says. “You fight for the world above and yet you do not love it. Why?”
“Because it is where I belong.” The lie tear my throat to pieces.
“Do you?” he challenges. “Among people who only see value in your power?”
“What value does an Immortal have if not power?”
His eyes burn into me. “Kindness.”
I look away. I have only ever been a beacon of wrongness. A woman who looks like a Goddess but does not act or perform as such, and here the Lord of the Dead is telling me my weakness is what makes me strong.
I close my eyes against my name on his tongue. His fingers brush my cheek and trail into my hair.
“Persephone, look at me.”
I meet his gaze and I am frozen. Hades’ beautiful face is tense, his eyes hard but determined.
“You are right for this world. I feel it. You walk upon my earth and beneath my skin and it is a thrill. You might not breath life into the rose or the willow, but you bring life to me.”
I kiss him and Hades lifts me off the ground and I wrap my legs around his waist. His lips leave mine and travel down my throat and collar bone. My hands search for openings in his robes, and when my fingers splay across his skin, he hisses and returns to my mouth. His tongue tastes sweet, and his scents are intoxicating–it’s earth and ash–it’s home.
I devour him. I drown in him.
We are two jagged pieces that somehow fit together in our brokenness.
He pulls away only a fraction so that when he speaks, his lips brush mine.
It is a command, and I want to succumb to him like it were a kiss…
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