#epaine

[keysatthecrossroad]

Epithets of Hekáte

Epaine - Awe-Inspiring

Hekáte, we praise Your many names,

We sing Your many deeds,

We adore Your many blessings.

Queen of Witches, Epaine,

You are the holder of the keys,

The guardian of the Gate,

The keeper of both the Cosmos and the Liminal.

Hekáte, Mother of All, all will hail You!

[symphonyofmalice]

Epaine

@charmantevamp (liked for a theater-era starter)

The Theatre Des Vampires was putting on a play- an odd, monstrous, macabre adaptation of the abduction of Persephone.

Nicolas, playwright, musician, centerpiece of the theater- was in the titular role of this particular performance. The play began with him in the role of Maiden. His long hair was loose, braided through with wild flowers. His clothing was all flowing pastels. The other vampires danced around him, nymphs and divine companions, as he played the violin. The song was one of pastoral beauty, of peace, joy and springtime.

Some found the casting of Hades odd. Was the Lord of the Underworld usually so small, so slight of frame? But the actor playing the eldest Olympian brought a gravitas to the role nonetheless. Cloaked in darkness, presaged by the beat of earth-shaking drums, attended by ghoulish monsters, he stole Persephone away. The shrill, stabbing notes of the violin as Nicolas was dragged into the darkness sounded remarkably like screams. The vampiric dead tore the flowers from his hair, crushed them under foot, left him in torn rags.

Now the temptation began. And this was the theater of the vampires after all. Hades wooed his stolen bride with a procession of victims- played mostly by vampires. They were dressed in the Greek style, with dripping necklaces of red rubies- the pomegranate seeds of blood. Persephone refused again and again, except for the last- the only true mortal in the line. One more, like so many others, stolen off the street and charmed with mental tricks. Hades and the other vampires feasted on the victim, drinking deeply. And submitting to temptation, Persephone drank just enough for the stain of red around her lips to be visible to the back rows of the audience.

But there was no Demeter in this play. No springtime. No return from the cold, frost, death of Winter. No escape from the Underworld. Instead, it showed why Persephone had epithets like Brimō, the angry. Epainē, the fearful, the dreaded. Dressed now all in black, Persephone stood side by side with her husband. Queen of the Underworld, watching with stone-faced impassivity, waiting for the next doomed mortal, merciless to how their suffering was once her own. The curtains closed on the screams of the next victim being brought in.