Disclaimer: It ain't mine... thankfully as hiatus's are long enough as it is!
Persephone
There is very little in Damon's room. The simplicity of his living area stands in direct contrast to the extravagant clutter to be found in his brother's room. Perhaps this is why they cannot seem to function without each other, she thinks, there is balance to be found only in the in-between.
The pile of books on his bedside table seems ridiculously out of place. They are perched precariously atop one another, a singular hint that the room is inhabited. The worn leather covers beckon her.
His taste in literature appears to be as indiscriminate as his taste in women. Homer and the Bronte's are sandwiched between Hawking and King and every volume is well worn. There is a book of Greek Mythology that draws her attention. She runs her fingers across the cover illustration; Persephone reaching for the pomegranate.
There is wariness in her expression and a yearning as well. Elena is convinced she knows what she is reaching for. She imagines her hand closing around the smooth, brilliant fruit; her nails digging into the hard skin until the jewels spilled from the wound like hundreds of cerise-red drops of blood.
She would have stared at them for a moment; just a moment of hesitation before she brought them to her lips. And then the sweetness bursting onto her parched tongue; the sweet relief of satisfying those months of yearning.
She thinks that perhaps Persephone pretends later that she regrets.
But locked in her memory is the sweetness of her surrender; she is satisfied with her choice. She is happy to live a life of halves; of dishonesty in the light of family and summer and surrender in the dark.
She knew, Persephone, about balance in the in-between.