The Capture
From where she was on the ground, she had to crane her head up to look at the God who stood tall and formidable on his chariot.
Dressed in a black exomis that almost made it appear as though he was cloaked in shadows, she could not help but think of how he looked like the epitome of midnight, with skin as pale as alabaster, that contrasted greatly against the black midnight of his hair and his eyes.
Oh, his eyes.
His eyes, she realised, were fixed on her, and she could feel his hard gaze boring into her, so intense and so fervid that she would have almost thought that he was gazing right at her soul.
That thought made her ichor run dramatically in her veins, and sent a chill down her spine that she would have reacted to if it were not for the fact that she was too frozen in shock to make a move of her limbs or speak a word on her tongue.
He took this as a chance, it had seemed, for with the swiftness that could almost rival Hermes' speed of flight, he had snatched her up from the ground, as though he was just grabbing a small pebble at his feet, and held her at her waist to his body.
Before Persephone could even register what had just gone on in the past few seconds, the dark God that held her in his arms suddenly spoke a command to his steeds, who neighed in response and quickly moved downwards, into the gaping hole that it had emerged from.
She could have screamed – should have screamed – right there and then, but nothing come out through her lips except for an extremely loud gasp of shock as the chariot dived into the earth. She could feel the flowers in her hair suddenly flying out from her tresses as she descended into the underground, and a quick glance up saw them shrivelling so quickly until turning into nothing but dust.
And as she looked up, she could see the hole getting smaller and smaller – she wasn't sure if it was because her captor was rapidly taking her further and further into the underground, or if in actuality the hole above was closing up. Either way, the light that shone through was becoming nothing more than a tiny speck to her eyes, until it disappeared and there was nothing but darkness above her as well.
At this point, she could not see anything, only feel the cold air rushing past her and the strong arms of her captor holding her tightly at the waist as he reigned his steeds towards whatever was below the surface. It scared her, not being able to see, especially the fact that whatever they were heading to was just more darkness.
So involved in her fear that she did not realise that she had gripped the shoulders of the dark God and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, as though to seek solace from the frightening environment around her. It was then that the grip that the Dark God had around her waist was tightened, as though to give her the solace that she sought for.
"Precious flower, do not fear," he murmured in her ear. "You shall be safe."