Persephone

III

Not grown by her own hand, not grown by her mother's hand. But put there.

The faraway shadow smiled to itself, it lifted its hands and removed the smooth helmet from its head, his guise disappeared immediately and he became visible to the eye. 

Suddenly, she jerked up and straightened her back, noticing for the first time the dark, distant figure ahead. Both stood motionless, each barely a blurry smear to the eyes of the other. 

She took a daring step forward, keeping her gaze fixed on the faraway stranger. The thought of her mother gaining knowledge of the presence of a stranger here in her meadow thrilled her. To see the anger in her eyes, she craved it. And yet she feared it. But her interest had been spiked, and Persephone could not bring herself to care much for the consequences of her following actions. There had never been anyone else in the meadow but her mother and herself. Some times, Demeter would allow some nymphs to stroll around, but never for long, and they were all strictly told not to interact with the young goddess.

Step by step, the figure became clearer. A man, much taller than she had originally perceived, stood now an arm's length from her.

Without the distance separating them, Persephone could now take a better glance at him. A shudder ran down her spine as she noticed for the first time the patch of land that surrounded him. They were dead. Everything had withered, all the flowers and grass near him had decayed.

Who was this man?

This man was no mortal, Persephone knew that much. He could not be.

Never had she witnessed so much death in her mother's meadow. Never had her eyes observed any dead blossoms that had not been murdered by her own hand. She could not help the smile that tugged at her lips at the thought of her mother's face.

"Who are you?"

The question lingered. The man stood unfazed. His face was devastatingly handsome and pale, lacking Helio's golden kiss. His expression was dark and sombre, and unlike all the other gods Persephone had paraded for, the man before her brimmed her with curiosity. Unlike Ares, the features of his face seemed sculpted carefully and with measure, every curve and angle connecting smoothly with the next. At the sight of the man, her body was enveloped by a warmness that was unknown to her.

The man before her could not be described as anything but gloom. Dark, yet beautiful.

For the first time in a very long time, no ill-willed thoughts came to her mind as she took in the vision before her. She could not find it in herself to despise his appearance or his silence. She could only feel intrigued.

"Who are you, goddess?" The man's face barely moved as he pronounced each word delicately. The words had not been uttered as a question, but a demand. He demanded her to present herself, and Persephone had never felt more obligated to comply with any demand ever made to her.

"I am Persephone, daughter of the great Zeus and the goddess Demeter." She said haughtily, holding her chin high, her head tilted in that prepotent angle that showcased her immortality, her superiority. The mention of her mother's name left a sour taste in Persephone's mouth. Her lips curling in hatred for a fleeting second. "And you have not answered my question," Her eyes found his, a deep shade of blue, the darkest she had ever seen. She had never been alone with another god for so long, her mother had made sure of it. And she was sure this man was a god, for he could be nothing but. This was new to her. This was a taste of the freedom she desperately ached for.

"Persephone," the man repeated, seemingly tasting the words, her name rolling smoothly off his tongue like a sip of ambrosia and nectar. She quivered. "I am afraid we have not met before, daughter of Zeus. Would you run away if you knew who I was?" He stated simply. The look on his face matched the dark and gloomy appearance of the dead flowers surrounding him. Dead.