Dear Gods, he had not been so nervous in his whole immortal life, this he knew for a fact. No god or goddess or nymph could cause such a spell to loom over him, making it impossible for him to sleep or govern the dead or brood without images of golden hair and green eyes to spring before his vision, making his cheeks flush and a rare smile to grace his lips.
And now, with the opportunity to speak to one more fair than Aphrodite, he was nervous. Him, the god that was most feared by his brothers and sisters, could not seem to speak to someone as fair and kind and gentle as her.
But nevertheless he had sworn on the River Styx that he would speak with her when next he visited Olympus, and thanks to such a stupid whim (initiated by that tricky Hecate), he was standing across an orchard filled with sprawling flowers staring at their creator who mirrored their beauty, if not more so. Slowly, he began walking towards the fair Persephone, and he hoped that he could keep some of the dignity he was so well known for while speaking to her.
She finally turned around, hearing his steps approaching, and smiled a smile more radiant than the never-ending sun in the Elysian Fields. His cheeks flushed and he pretended it was because of the mid-morning sun, "Hello, dear Perspehone."
Her smile grew larger, if that was possible, and she merrily replied, "Hello, Hades. What brings you here, in the middle of the day, no less?" She giggled, and he was certain he would pass out. If her voice was a melody, her laugh was a song no muse could imitate.
His heart was thumping so rapidly he was sure she had heard by now – oh wait, she had asked him a question, but he was so preoccupied with not looking like a fool that he now looked like a fool as she waited patiently for his answer, staring into his soul with those forests of green she dared call eyes.
Wouldn't it be incredibly rude to ask her what she had asked him? She would think he was not paying attention! No, he would never ignore her, not a single whim or want she would acquire, he would always listen to her.
Since he was certain that he would likely sound like an idiotic mortal looking for favor if he tried speaking to Persephone for an extended period of time, and he did not want her to think he was like her other suitors who simply saw her as a prize to be won – one to look at and not listen to – he decided to take the only course of action he saw fit, "I am sorry, dear Persephone, but I must take my leave. Charon calls to me that there are souls to be judged," On a whim, he bent over, took her delicate hand in one of his own, and kissed her knuckles. He did not dare look at her, "I hope this is not the only time we meet." There, perhaps he did keep a little bit of his dignity during their encounter.
He let go of her hand and when he finally looked up, sure that he was not as red as he was when he kissed her, he saw Persephone would not look him in the eye and her cheeks were flushed a beautiful pink. Did he offend her? Embarrass her? He certainly hoped not, but if he did, he made sure to make a swift exit, disappearing in a cloud of smoke and darkness to his kingdom under the earth.
He did not hear her quiet "Goodbye, dear Hades," and her shoulders slump in disappointment that he did not stay.
