Persephone and Hades

IV

Persephone stood at the rosebush, her fingers brushing the snow white petals tentatively, careful not to damage them. She admired their thorns and their leaves tipped with tiny spikes. The bees and hummingbirds seemed to enjoy their taste just as much as she enjoyed their fragrance.

She felt the earth hum and rumble, the bees and hummingbirds flew away, and the small rabbits and squirrels that had been hiding in the bushes branches scattered into the tall grass. She knelt on the dirt and looked under bush, wanting to find the cause of the quake. On the other side of the bush, Persephone saw two black boots where there had previously been none. She stood up from the ground with grace and fear, her movements languid, quiet, deliberate. She knew who stood on the other side of the bush, and she did not want too eager to see his face for the first time.

The top of the rose bush reached to just below his shoulders — were she to stand on the tips of her toes and balance there, she might have rested her cheek against his neck. He was thin, but not sickly — she could see defined muscles on his arms and beneath the cloth of his shirt, but he was nothing like his brothers, Zeus and Poseidon. She watched as he lifted his arm and ran his fingers through his hair, the dark brown strands glittering gold and crimson in the afternoon sunlight. His eyes betrayed him — they whispered of so much knowledge, of so many terrible and frightening occurrences witnessed within dark rooms; their colour was stormy, much like the sea as the clouds roll in, the sounds of thunder and streaks of lightning for off on the horizon approaching swiftly. She saw within him, behind the shy smile he offered when he realized she had been staring at him, a hurricane beating at the edges of his being, threatening to break down the walls and crash against anyone brave — or stupid — enough to be standing near him.