persephone

II | ᴛ̶ʜ̶ᴇ̶ ᴡ̶ᴏ̶ʀ̶ᴛ̶ʜ̶ʏ̶ s̶ᴜ̶ɪ̶ᴛ̶ᴏ̶ʀ̶ // ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴏʀ

ARES ARRIVED WITH THE SPLENDOR OF A THOUSAND KINGS.

    White horses pulled a sleek chariot of gold engraved with details so finely etched that Persephone had to squint to see that they depicted a scene of a battle, the curves of fallen bodies and faces filled with anguish gleaming in the light of the setting sun.

    She stood by her mother near the entrance to their home, with her hands clasped in front of her in a gesture of false demureness. She could feel her fingernails digging half moons into her hands when her mother pressed a hand to her back, a reminder, a warning, to act like the perfect maiden they all thought she was.

    The door of the chariot flew open and a flash of brown feathers flew out and soared into the air. The falcon circled high above them and let out a piercing caw, the shriek like a fevered prayer, before landing on one of the metal spires that protruded from the chariot's roof.

    "She's been dying to stretch her wings." A leather boot stepped out of the chariot, and Ares stood before them, towering above both Persephone and Demeter. "She made such a ruckus on the way here I was tempted to shut her up for good," he continued, patting the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip with a calloused hand.

    Persephone felt a shudder pass through her body, and even Demeter's face held a shadow of horror before she bowed her head in greeting.

    "Ares," she said, lifting her head. "How nice to see you again. I trust your trip here was pleasant?" Her hand was still pressed to Persephone's back and she could feel her mother's fingers curl into her skin. She hastily bowed her own head, and Demeter's grip loosened infinitesimally.

    The god of war gave a dismissive hum. "Yes, yes. It was pleasant enough."

    Persephone peeked up from behind her eyelashes. He was staring at her, a leer chipped onto his face, twisted and unnatural, as if the sculptor had been using a blunt chisel when carving out his smile. Blunt described Ares well. His face was full of hard planes and crooked lines, nothing smooth and continuous. He looked like a project abandoned by it's artist, still in the rough sketch stages.

    "Persephone, how lovely to see you again." His lips were still twisted into a grin. She wondered if he knew what "lovely" meant. He looked like he had never encountered any semblance of lovely before in his life, the word coming out harsh and jarring.

    Lifting her head, Persephone curved her lips into a crescent smile. "It is quite lovely to see you again as well, Ares." She unfurled her fingers from their position clasped in front of her and sank into a curtsy.

    She felt his eyes rake down her figure slowly and back up. "Still as beautiful as ever. Pretty as a flower." He gave a throaty chuckle that sounded more like a growl, amused with his own cleverness. Revulsion rolled in Persephone's stomach. From all the suitors that had visited her, he was the worst so far.

    As they turned toward the villa, Ares and Demeter in conversation, Persephone gazed at the falcon who was still perched on the spire, regarding them with eerie silence. It was a beautiful bird, an emblem of Are's power, and she could see the pride in its luminescent eyes. If Ares could cage his own symbol with such flippant cruelty, Persephone didn't want to find out what dungeon he would lock her away in, if he would slit her throat over and over again until she too would thirst for the rare opportunities to cry out a prayer, the shell of the goddess she once was.

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    Persephone prodded at the food on her plate listlessly, listening to her mother and Ares discuss the latest news from Mount Olympus with half hearted interest. She was growing impatient, tired of the high pitched laughter her mother emitted after each sentence, and how the dining table shook each time Ares slammed down his fist in animated earnest of his own undoubtedly fascinating stories.