Persephone

IV

Persephone loved her mother. Dearly. She was vibrant and full of life and the kindest person she knew.

But she wished she would leave her alone for one moment.

She was Demeter's only child, and was treated as such - with a terrified grip that never loosened, not even to allow her to see the changes for Spring. She was always accompanied, now by Hephaestus since Apollo had been very promptly dismissed from that role. He was more serious and, much to her displeasure, lacked a sense of humour.

Which was why it was so lovely being alone now.

Of course, she would only have a little more time to herself. She had to space out these desertions of hers - they were always followed by a screaming match with her mother, Athena, and whoever was meant to be guarding her at that specific moment.

She didn't resent her mother for it. On the contrary, she felt it brought them closer together when they reconciled with kisses and embraces at the end of the night.

She was not an easy child.

Persephone kneeled down on the now slightly chilly grass to add the Rhodian lily to her bouquet. It was mid-Autumn, and the winds had come back with a vengeance this year. The Anemoi had been arguing recently about when the sun would come up, when the stars would come down, when during the year the winds would rage fiercest, and Aeolus had been managing too many fitful adolescents for too long. The winds were breaching Olympus earlier and more laboriously this year, and they all knew why.

She saw a hyacinth and smiled, plucking it delicately from its sheath. Usually they protested when wrenched from their plant bed, but with the goddess of Spring they whispered a sigh of comfort as she held them in her freckled hand, smiling as she added them to her mess of a forgiveness garland. Her mother had always loved hyacinths the most.

Persephone let out a small squeal as she fell face-first into the dirt, scraping her cheekbone on a rock and crashing to the ground, her assortment of apologies scattering in the dust. She sat up, huffed, and felt at her cheek before biting back a hiss. It stung, badly.

Irritated by the sudden jerking out of her thoughts, she stood, snatching the now sullied flowers as she did so, brushing off the dirt from her clothing, the white cotton covered in dark stains, before stomping over in bare feet to see what had the audacity to bring her crumbling to the ground in her own domain.

It was a blackened root, covered in dull, greying moss, reaching out slackly to the grass smiling under the sun. Followed by a scorched, hollowed-out tree, with burn marks scarring the wood, no birds or squirrels daring to go near, in case they too were melted.

Followed by a set of stone steps leading down, down, into darkness.

There was a cold that emanated from these steps. It was crisp and wintry out here above ground, there was a life in the wind that clutched the leaves weakly as it blew past, creating noise and heartbeats and vitality.

The ice that came from the corridor had no life in it. It was dead and ancient. It didn't want anyone near it, like an elderly cat who had become hateful of the irksome children that touched its tail, and decreed that it should be left alone for all eternity.

Persephone had an issue with respecting the rules.

"Kore!"

It was Hermes, here to retrieve her back to Olympus and imprison her in her room for misbehaviour. They always used her silly, childish name that her father had given to her when she was born. 'Little girl', it meant. She hated it. She had not been a little girl for some time.

There was another call of her name, in Athena's low, forceful voice. She wanted more time. Needed it.

There was a third cry. This time her mother's. She could not face her. She needed more time. To be alone, to be quiet, to have the stillness of the air wrap around her like a blanket until she was safe and warm in her own contented silence.

The steps were uninviting. They lurked, eyeing her off, wondering whether they would have to slip her into their maws and have the girl never be seen again if she dared try and approach.

Persephone was terrified.

But she was also very, very stubborn.

And so, trailing delicate flowers of the above ground world, the goddess of Spring made her hurried descent into Hell's unwelcoming arms.