Persephone

XVIII

She shook as she walked, Nycteus trotting beside her, every so often flicking her a glance out of the corner of his eye. Her face was pale, her eyes large. 

This was it.

The entrance to the throne room appeared tiny before them. They continued their pace, and suddenly Persephone's fingers were brushing the cold, cold stone. She stopped.

Nycteus turned quickly. "My lady?"

Her palm on her abdomen. In, out. In, out. She never thought that breathing could be so laborious. Her heart was twisting, churning inside of her.

This was it.

A soft face butted against her shoulder, and Nycteus' anxious eyes appeared in front of her. He looked at the tears that had quietly spilled down her cheeks, and exhaled, sorrowfully. 

"My lady," he whispered, and Persephone closed her eyes, face contorting as the tears came again. "My lady, we must move on."

She nodded, and sniffed, wiping the back of her hand across her nose. Placing her hand on the back of his neck, knowing she would fall if she didn't, they took a step. One. Two. Three -

And suddenly they were over the threshold, in the throne room. There was no turning back. She opened her eyes and saw Hades, standing next his golden chariot, though it was a darker, rustier colour than expected, with death in his eyes. He had to give her up. His one love, the one person that made his life worth living. For the humans. For Olympus.

This was it.

Her hand drifted down Nycteus' neck and fell dully at her side. Hades held out his hand, and though she wished to run away from him, to hide, her feet closed the space between them, as if it were the most natural, basic instinct for them to be together. Her hand slid into his, and for one joyful, shining moment, they were joined as one. Then she looked up, and saw the redness of his eyes, the gleaming whirls that tracked down his cheeks like beautiful scars. He had been crying too. 

Hades looked down at her, the Goddess of Spring, and swallowed back his grief, before croaking, "I'm sorry."

Her grip tightened on his hand. She felt his palm, his fingers, the cool skin that had abated her fire, that had levelled them both. 

She couldn't speak. It was too painful, leaving him, leaving the Underworld, the friends she'd made here. Nycteus had since taken his place beside his brethren, a lone naiad tacking him up, snorting as the other stallions stood deathly still, upright and emotionless. For one moment Alastor craned his head to look at her discreetly, before catching the eye of Orphnaeus, and coming to attention again. In the distance, she could hear yelps and mournful growls as various Potameides voices were heard, angelic, sweet, attempting to soothe the monster with three heads. She tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow her heart in her throat. She might be breaking her promise to him today. She said she wouldn't leave.

Finally, her eyes dragged up to meet Charon's white eyes. He nodded. It was time. And only time would tell if the seeds sown into her belly would accomplish their task. 

She looked up into Hades face, and he nodded. Slowly, painfully, he led her to the carriage. When his hands touched her waist and lifted her up the whole world seemed to stop. Memories of his hands, his lips on her resurfaced, and the pain began anew. 

Hades got in beside her, and took the reins in his hands. With one last look at the happiness he was giving away, Hades called the stallions up into the sky.

The caverns of the Underworld flashed around her as the chariot hurtled on up, Hades' stallions cantering on nothing as though their lives depended upon it. Persephone's white-knuckled grip never loosened as she clutched the tarnished gold for dear life. She looked down, and all her organs seemed to fall out of her body. She could see the river, luminous and green, see the naiads paddling in the water, some still trying to calm Cerberus, whose howls pierced her ears. She watched as they passed stalactites and crystals and souls, wondering desperately if they might wilt a little, when she was gone.