"I am only my own-
half blooming creation,
half blazing hellfire."
Some romances are legendary.
<<A retelling of the myth of Hades and Persephone>>
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"Mother's here to protect you forever"
Persephone kept staring at nowhere in particular as the words replayed over and over in her mind. They had barely allowed her to sleep a wink that night, the menacing promise woven into the seemingly innocent words terrified Persephone far more than she would ever admit.
The dreadful thought of spending eternity under her mother's asphyxiating hold made her sick. She had entertained the thought of escaping many times before, but like many times before she realised how stupid of a plan it sounded. Persephone glanced around the strangely quiet meadow and allowed her unusually lousy mind to drift back to the previous night and the unpleasant dinner with Ares. For the first time since his departure, she allowed herself to express any kind of disgust on her face, her lips curling in a venomous moue. Being forced to go through all the nuisance of sitting idly while her beauty was worshipped did not amuse Persephone in the slightest. It only served the purpose of feeding her impending pique.
The sun glided across the bright, clear sky, the passing of hours doing nothing to divide Persephone's resolution. She knew not what to do, but she was most certain of the verity of the harshness to the feelings she harboured inside her chest for her dear mother.
Persephone stood up from her kneeling position in the middle of the lea. She closed her eyes and moved her hand before her face, the soft touch of flowers against the skin of her calves eliciting the smallest of sighs from her. Just like the many days before, she wished for her rage to manifest in a downpour on the spiteful meadow, yet she could not bring herself to concentrate on the dark heavy clouds.
The sound of her sigh, although small, managed to catch the attention of a faraway spectator. The tall, looming silhouette of a shadow on the field stood motionless, observing through hooded eyes at the young Persephone.
Persephone opened her eyes and turned around swiftly. The soft summer breeze pushed her light tendrils into her face, veiling her view from the distant figure. That's when she noticed it. The flower. Unlike her roses, it was not fierce, but delicate. Yet it caught her attention as one of the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen before. A white narcissus dipped in gold in the very centre. She approached the flower, not being able to shake away the compelling curiosity that flourished inside her. Upon closer inspection, Persephone realised there was nothing extraordinary about the flower. It was a plain narcissus, much like all the others she had seen before, a reminder of what vanity really was: a weakness.
As she extended her hand to run her fingers across the soft, white petals, something struck her as odd about the whole situation. She had never seen a narcissus in this part her mother's field, although narcissi would sprout beautifully in the drained soil of the lea, under the shiny blessing of Helios. The flower felt different.
