Halves

XVII. Persephone

I feel at home in the Underworld now.

The day of my brush with Kronos, I almost considered asking Hades to take me back. But then he let me sleep in his bed, and he kept my nightmares away, and I realized that whatever rules of the Underworld are keeping me from wandering as I would like, he truly cares for me. Deeply and authentically. 

There is no pretense between us, no expectations I have to fulfill to earn his approval. He likes me just for being Persephone, with all of my quirks and flaws, and that is a freedom that dwarfs even the physical kind.

Sometimes, I almost think he might feel more for me than that.

I am pretty certain by now that I am in love with him.

How much time has gone by since that fateful day I first stayed for dinner, I do not know anymore. I have become used to the unchanging passage of time down here, my thoughts no longer trying to define it by the imaginary journey of a sun that does not shine.

Instead, my waking hours are marked by the time I spend with Hades. During his recovery, we are together whenever he does not have to judge the shades. Sometimes we walk through Asphodel together, simply talking about anything and everything that is of interest to us at the moment.

Other days we sit in one of his libraries and I read to him, sitting on the floor and leaning against his chair while he writes long columns of numbers on scrolls, presumably keeping track of the mortal souls he has judged and where he sent them. 

I am sure he has heard all of the stories and poems that I select long before now, but I have not. He seems amused by my reactions to them, so he indulges me.

When his wound finally heals, I worry that he will no longer desire my company during his free time, but he surprises me. The first day that he takes off his bandages, he appears in the doorway to my chamber.

"I am going out to give Nyctaeus a run," he announces, eyes gleaming.

"I hope you have a wonderful ride." I should not have expected him to still be with me every spare moment once he was better.

"I think Alastor misses your gentler touch. He'll not throw you again — if you do not steer him towards Pyriphlegethon this time." 

To my immense relief, Alastor had run straight back to his familiar stable when I lost him before. I had been down to brush him and bring him an apple a couple of times, but was too reluctant to try riding him again. 

Hades's words are encouraging, though, and the fact that he has invited me along sends my heart soaring.

"We will come with you, then."

The ride is perfect. The horses are eager to be out but not too anxious, and there is something about riding at Hades's side that feels wonderfully harmonious. 

In the cool wind, the echo of hoofbeats resonating deep within the earth, it feels as if there is an empty space beside him, and that I am somehow flawlessly made to fill it.

Maybe that is part of who Persephone is. 

Maybe that could be her purpose.

We race the stallions through Elysium, raising startled calls from the peaceful shades as we thunder past. Eventually we give our steeds a break at the seashore, letting them roam to nibble the grass. I gather an armful of flowers from the woods, making my way back to where I left Hades lying on the hillside. I drop my load of blossoms and take a seat next to him, my fingers falling into the familiar pattern of weaving a crown.

Wildflowers bob and dance between blades of grass beside me, and I realize that they have spread out of the trail of my footsteps from last time, decorating the entire landscape of the meadow.