A/n: Whilst I base this story off of myths, please keep in mind that I have taken some artistic license. So if something may not be particularly accurate... pretend it is! ;P Please review!- Becky Sky
"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."-Friedrich Nietzsche
Hours later, Persephone soared above the earth, the wind fluttering the sleeves of her dress into her face. Below, mountains encased the rocky ground, and farmers struggled with the little fertile soil that existed. Olive trees reached for the clear blue sky, and birds twittered at the goddess as she flew by.
Beside her, Demeter stared down at the wailing soils, her mouth a thin, hard line. Persephone glanced at her mother, her heart suddenly heavy as she noticed Demeter's worry. "Why can't you just help them?" she asked softly. "Why is there a famine in the first place?"
Demeter smiled sadly, laughing with an almost patronizing tone. "My darling daughter, you should know more than anybody else that the gods' powers have limits. Especially mine, as I'm a-" she sniffed disdainfully- "a minor goddess."
Persephone said nothing in return, allowing her eyes to fall back to the ground, with its various attractions and curiosities. "Mother," she asked suddenly, "has there ever been a case where a goddess married a mortal- where it did not end in tragedy?"
Demeter glanced at her sharply, her brow furrowed disapprovingly. "Are you still thinking of Adonis, then?" she asked, giving another of her disheartening sniffs. "That weakling."
Persephone's face flushed crimson, and she felt the heat to the very tips of her toes. Her stomach ached for the feeling of butterflies, the ones that had fluttered inside when Adonis held her close. Perhaps she wasn't much better than Hades, she admitted, but it was only because of his disinterest that she'd ever even thought of Adonis.
"He was kind," she murmured, meeting her mother's piercing, angry gaze indignantly. "He loved me!"
"And Aphrodite," her mother snapped, her fingers twisting her black braid violently with agitation. "Never share a mortal man with another goddess, Persephone. Or mortal for that matter. It only leads to mortal wars and stupidity. Honestly, if Zeus had been more discreet, who knows where mankind could be today."
Thunder rumbled angrily overhead, but Demeter glared up at the darkening sky. "Oh, calm down Thunderbolts," she said snidely. "And you," she turned to her daughter accusingly, "do not end up like the king of the gods. Leave mortals alone."
"And why do you care about mortals?" Persephone asked, her temper flaring at her mother's contempt. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides, and her dark hair whipped across her face like a whip. Power streamed across her skin, and blazed out like grey fire. Nearby, a bird spun too close, and, with an ear-splitting shriek, spiralled towards the earth in a fall of bones and ashes. Demeter stared at the dead bird in shock, then looked at her daughter sternly.
"Your power is growing."
Persephone sighed, hands trembling. Inside of her, Kore wept for the sweet bird she'd murdered. Birds had been her friends, had accompanied her on her many adventures as a child. "I know," she said tiredly. "It's because of the Underworld."
Demeter shook her head, lips pursed thoughtfully. "I suppose." However, she didn't sound certain. "Should I ask how Lord Hades is doing?"
"As bored and horrid as ever," Persephone said, not wanting to even breach that subject of conversation.
"You are fortunate he even allowed Adonis to enter the Fields of Asphodel," Demeter said lowly.
Persephone snorted. "I wish he was that jealous and devoted," she said cruelly. "I don't think he truly cared. For all I know, he's bedding another nymph as we speak. He wouldn't want to be lonely all the cold winter long." Her eyes glinted wickedly.
When she realized her mother hadn't answered, Persephone peered at her face, and gasped in shock. Tears glimmered in her mother's green eyes, trickling down her weathered cheeks. "Mother?"
The goddess of the harvest shook her head stubbornly, her chin trembling. She swallowed, steadying herself. "There are two whom I should like you to meet," she answered.
"When?"
"Right now," Demeter said, and snapped her fingers.
Within an instant, mother and daughter were encased in a green glow, then the land below them vanished from sight. It was replaced by the scent of brine, and a sharp, stinging wind lashing Persephone's cheeks. Trees towering to the sky edged the sandy beach, vines drooping between them.
On the soft, sifting sand, two figures argued heatedly. One was a tall, handsome man with tanned skin, dark hair, and wicked green eyes. He was robed in violet, and nymphs trotted around him holding clusters of grapes. Across from him, pale face flushed with anger, was an ebony-crowned beauty, whose brown eyes flickered between docility and pig-headed stubbornness. To the goddess of the Underworld, the woman seemed different from her companion.
"Hello Dionysus," Demeter said languidly, crossing the sand to greet the fellow deity. Dionysus turned to her, pursing his lips in irritation. "What are you doing here?" he asked brusquely, gaze straying behind the goddess to her daughter. His eyes widened, and he whistled. "So is this Persephone, Carrier of Curses?"
The woman turned to Persephone, and her knees quivered as she sank to the ground. Persephone suddenly realized the distinction between this girl and herself; the scent of sweat and fear that radiated from her skin, so stagnant and powerful that the goddess's nose wrinkled. She was mortal.
"So, I am not the only one who plays with mortals?" Persephone asked, eyeing her mother sharply. "Is that the lesson you wished to portray?" She whirled on the girl, eyes searing through her pale, mortal skin.
"And who are you?" Persephone asked her icily.
The girl raised her head to meet her gaze, biting her lip and glaring. Her chin quavered, but she kept it in check. Persephone was surprised to admit that she seemed brave.
"My name is Ariadne," the girl said in a shockingly clear, even voice. "Consort of Dionysus, bride of the wine god. So why should I fear you?" Her tongue tripped over the last words, her mortal fear of the gods stealing her bravery. However, she kept Persephone's eyes, creating a deep respect, if not profound dislike, within Persephone's heart.
"And why should I care who you are?" Persephone returned coolly. "You seem very ordinary to me."
Ariadne's nostrils flared like a horse's, and Persephone tried not to giggle. Then the girl broke the gaze, eyes straying to the sand. "It matters not," she said softly, struggling to her feet. She tripped, and Dionysus caught her in his arms, face going ashen. And it was then that Persephone realized why Ariadne's scent was so repulsive- her mortality was slowly slipping away.
She was dying.
Persephone observed the girl more closely, looking deeper and listening harder for what she knew tingled at the edge of her senses. Then she found it- a bundle of warmth and joy growing steadily colder within Ariadne's abdomen. She was with child, and it was killing her.
"Your babe is dying inside you," she said crisply to Ariadne, and watched in amazement as Dionysus' arms tightened their grip around her protectively.
"Save her," he pleaded.
Persephone shook her head. "No. It is not within my power or my will. I have no concern for your mortal trysts."
Demeter snorted in utter disgust, but Persephone ignored her.
"She's my wife! She's borne me children! Warriors!" Dionysus raged, his eyes glimmering with tears.
"How old is she?" Persephone asked in astonishment, gut twisting at his anguish, reliving once more the misery of watching her own beloved Adonis descend into the Underworld. Then the mortal's voice broke through her reverie, and Persephone contained herself.
"Not very old," Ariadne croaked. "I'm right here; you may speak to me as well, Lady Death."
"Anyways," Persephone continued, "Despite her age, I will not involve myself."
"Why?" Ariadne suddenly exploded, leaping from Dionysus's arms and lunging at the Goddess of Death. Startled, Persephone jerked back, a strange glow, like mist wrapped with her mother's green magic, instantly surging from her body. It smacked the mortal in the chest, sucking the vitality through her skin.
Ariadne choked, stumbling backwards, her body contorting to weird angles. Her eyes were wide and wild, and the stench of death suddenly reeked everywhere.
"NO!" Dionysus roared, falling to his knees beside the gasping Ariadne. He glared up at Demeter, face frantic and feral. "You said she'd help her!" he snarled savagely.
"What?" Persephone turned on her mother in disbelief, lips tight with anger. "You had this planned?"
Her mother gazed back at her calmly, the very essence of a goddess whose power may have seemed minimal, but could kill within an instant. Self-confidence oozed from her like the grossest bubbling goo of the Underworld, making Persephone shudder. "Yes," Demeter said curtly, unimpressed with her daughter's wrath.
"WHY?" A strange wind began to blow, whipping her maidenly skirts around her legs. Suddenly she wished for her imposing black and red robe, wished for her ashen cheeks and dark powers. It would show she was not one to be messed with, by mere mortals or mothers.
"So you could see that love exists within a union of gods. And-"
Persephone aimed a finger at the dying girl. "She's no god," she hissed.
"Not yet," Ariadne hacked, chest heaving with agonized breaths. Persephone glared at the girl, and a single strand of curl above her forehead singed, smoke hissing into the air. Demeter laid a restraining hand on her arm, then glanced apologetically at the god of wine, who now cradled Ariadne in his arms, weeping softly.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her disappointment in Persephone's actions apparent in the drooping of her shoulders, like a wilted plant.
Something that felt like guilt punched Persephone in the gut, but she reminded herself that true gods felt no remorse. Think of Hera, she thought.
And where's Hera now? An inner voice, used to being pushed to the side, asked her. Feared but unloved, used but not wanted.
I tried to make him love me! Persephone screamed at herself. I tried, and it didn't work! We're just more miserable!
If he got bored of the old you, that is his problem. But does he love the new you any better? Or maybe he's realized what he's missing?
Shut up, she snarled. Just shut up, Kore!
Oh, alright, the voice said meekly.
Persephone shivered, stealing a glance sideways to see if her mother had witnessed her crazy conversation, but Demeter had vanished, along with Dionysus and Ariadne, leaving her completely alone.
Instead, a sad voice wavered into her ears, her mother's departing notion. "And I brought you here to become Kore again. Hades may not miss her, but I do."
When Persephone finally returned to Demeter's cottage, her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair tangled and knotty, and she felt nauseous. She wondered if the close encounters with human souls allowed her to feel their pain, or if it was possible for gods to become ill.
Stepping across the threshold, she peeked inside to see if her mother was around. A gentle wind blew throughout the house, tagging shutters and wafting hay into the air like dust motes. However, that was all she noticed. The house, like her heart, felt empty, a void she couldn't fill on her own.
For all she was a goddess, Persephone suddenly felt as weak and helpless as a newborn mortal babe. Sinking to her knees, she banged her fists against the ground, the pain clearing her head, leaving room for concise thought.
For the first time, she realized numbly, she hated it here. Her fists clenched together tightly, nails digging deep into her palms, drawing blood. "I hate it!" she shouted, her words booming through the vicinity, then bouncing right back at her like a hurtful accusation.
Once more, she felt like a little girl unable to get her way, the feeling of sinking lower and lower into her mother's bad graces as painful as heartbreak. The abyss seemed to open wider and wider, swallowing her up slowly in small, painful bites.
Only one thing could free her, she knew. But that thing was as fragile as butterfly wings, and, once attained, could only fly for so long before it died.
If she did go back to being Kore, could she ever survive the Underworld, much less Hades?
Persephone did not think so.
A tiny bird flew the window, landing on her shoulder. It preened her, sliding her thick curls through its beak. Tears slid down her cheeks like rain, and, for a moment, she allowed her heart to open. The warmth and comfort of an endearing creature wanting to be near took advantage of her weakened state; the feel of holding back her nature exhausted her.
Persephone covered her head with her hands and wept, embracing the vulnerability, and Kore, for just a little while.