Persephone

THE BIRTH OF THE SEASONS

EPILOGUE

Bewitched.

From the very moment he had laid his gaze upon the enchanting minx, he had been consumed with a deep longing for her that shook the very marrow of his ancient bones. Eros' arrow had struck him, and he was now a helpless victim to the loveliness of her eyes and the wicked allure of her voice and figure.

Her eyes and quick wit were perhaps his favorite parts of her. Either way, he was doomed. Any semblance of resistance to her charms gone as soon as she pressed her lips against his. His fearsome Queen. He found her terrifying. Among the deathless gods, he was the oldest. Mighty Hades, King of the Underworld, King of Shades. His name alone invoked both fear and respect in the hearts of mortals. Among his brothers, who so easily allowed themselves to be enraptured in the pleasures of the flesh, he prided himself of being the most sensible of the three.

Or in the very least, he used to pride himself on that. All reason was lost to him that one day on the meadow near Demeter's sacred grove. But what good had it brought him? As he stared at his beloved Persephone's empty throne beside his, he pondered on the possibility of him having committed a terrible mistake. He had spent eternity running away from solitude, but tonight it seemed inescapable. Loneliness crept all over his palace, it seeped from the cracks in the ancient walls and bled from the mockingly empty chair next to him. There was little the god of the dead could offer the goddess of spring, but he had trusted that whatever he had to give to her, his love, his wealth, his kingdom if she wished, would be enough. To an extent, it had been, but not enough to keep her down here with him.

He felt a stranger to his own home now. Devoid of the presence of a certain golden-haired goddess, it felt like the faint memory of a place he used to know. Although, admittedly, things had ended far better than he had actually hoped for. He had prepared himself for the impending brutality of the strike that would come when Zeus himself ordered him to give her back, never to be seen again. He had not completely lost her. She was still his Queen, she had placed the seeds on her tongue willingly, and she had kissed him right after, the bittersweet taste of both pomegranates and her love still lingering in their kiss.

Persephone was the first and last whim he'd concede his immortal heart. With good reason. The Lord of the Dead had little to do with mortals who still lived, and his meddling in their lives was scarce if any, but now, he had managed to somehow through his affections to a goddess that certainly had little to nothing to do with him or his kingdom, disrupt the lives of all mortals in existence at once. The birth of the seasons.

It was a new world.

For mortals, he presumed, it was a drastic change. But they'll manage. They always did, and if not, the Underworld and its rulers had plenty of space to accommodate the enlarged influx of shades. Demeter's childish tantrum virtually posed no threat to him or his realm, if not, it only meant more souls to look over. The only reason he agreed to allow Persephone back (despite her clear objections to going back) was Zeus. King of the gods, his youngest brother. But Persephone, bless her, that wicked, clever minx. She had made sure that not even her almighty father could take her away from her kingdom and its king for long. A Queen in every sense of the word was his wife.

Eons from now, mortals would huddle together and pass down the story of beautiful Persephone and the nefarious dark Lord. He entertained the thought of what just they would say. How before, Earth rewarded its inhabitants with bountiful crops all year round. When the wind grew cold, and the ground was bare, it would be said that Persephone sat with a saddened semblance beside her husband Hades in the Underworld. The story of how he abducted the maiden for his own perverted pleasure filling the hearts of young women with fear and disapproval. However, when the warmth was restored and flowers sprang from their buds when crops from the soil rose, it would be sang with joy how the goddess was returned to her mother's arms and all that had once been wrong was now right.

He sometimes wondered what drove him to that meadow that day. Had it been fated? Of course, it had, The Fates did always hold a soft spot for each one of Zeus' whims. Spinning their quilt to accommodate his Highness' desires. Did his brother dislike him so much, that knowing fully well this endeavor he recommended would end in nothing but Hades' misery, whispered in his ear his approval for their marriage?

Persephone was, undoubtedly, the only joy of his heart. Six months she was to remain up on top, bestowing the gift of Spring and Summer to mortals. However, six months she was to rejoin her husband down below and assume her role as the Queen of the dead. The only thing he looked up to was the return of his beloved, and while being parted from her made the solitude unbearable, he couldn't bring himself to regret ever having met her. Or allowing her to kiss him. Or agreeing to the madness she alluded to when she asked for his kingdom.

The goddess of Spring and the god of the Dead.

Hades leaned back on his throne, casting one last furtive glance to Persephone's own. He chuckled humourlessly at his own predicament. He had always thought of himself as reasonable, but there was nothing reasonable on the longing that ate away at his heart or the fact that he was married to his counterpart if not his complete opposite. There was certain darkness in her, however. Bringer of death. She wore it like her crown, elegantly and effortlessly.

He glanced at the ceiling. Six months.

He was immortal and it wasn't, after all, such a long time to wait for her return. 

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