I did a HadesxPersephone!Cresswell AU art for the mythology themed day of mini ship week and I never quite got over that prompt. So, here, have some more HadesxPersephone!Cresswell.
For TLC Ship Weeks, week two. Non-themed.
~:~
wake me up
Prompt:
I'd like a flat white, a day of pale skies
and a real kiss.
Persephone has a star etched between her shoulder blades, and a new name.
Her skin is a shade darker now, from the sun's constant caress. It makes her sad for some reason. She dreams of a grey, pale sky, and longs for something cold. Maybe snow. Maybe a kiss.
She paints her fingernails a different shade every week. Some days she thinks about dyeing her hair. Purple, perhaps. Or blue. Instead, she cuts it—short, choppy, inelegant—and watches each lock whisper down to the floor, sigh against her bare feet. She doesn't weep even though this feels like a new beginning.
She hates those.
.
Persephone's star itches. On rainy days, it burns.
Somewhere at the back of her mind, a voice tells her this is what a curse feels like. She lies down on the cool tiled floor of her small apartment and hums until she starts to drown in song.
She gets a job in a flower shop.
She can name all the names and recite all the meanings. Peonies are for prosperity, daisies are for innocence, red tulips are for undying love. She knows how to keep everything twice as fresh, knows how to arrange the flowers like a poem.
Her manager would swear she has magic on her fingertips if he didn't know any better.
.
Persephone goes to an alarming number of funerals.
She can't quite figure out why. She watches the sorrow from the sidelines and wonders why she feels a loss tapping against her chest. A hollow absence that manifests as an ache, spreading right down to her bones.
She chips away at her nail paint and leaves before she offers anyone her condolences.
.
Persephone wants to travel.
Somewhere less bright, somewhere less loud. Somewhere with a river where she can wade into. She misses her hair. She misses a lot of things.
She goes to the park on her way back from the shop and the ducks try to follow her home.
It rains that day. She has to sing herself to sleep because everything hurts. Especially her heart.
.
"What's your name?"
Persephone doesn't remember.
All she can see is blue, blue eyes, and all she can hear is the caramel in his voice. Her mind is a puddle on her floor. She really shouldn't be allowed to interact with the customers. She hasn't quite figured out how conversations work yet.
It doesn't matter that her name was swallowed up by a star. She has a new name now. But she can't remember that either. She remembers a pale, pale sky.
And laughter.
"Cress," she whispers, like it's a secret.
.
His name is Carswell Thorne.
Persephone repeats it. Once. Twice. And again and again and again. It feels wrong. And it feels right. She likes the sound of it, the weight of all the syllables. She rolls the words around her mouth and that's the only melody in her lungs for days.
It fits, she thinks. It's about the same shape and size as her hollow ache.
.
He buys flowers every Saturday.
Persephone adds a snowdrop to the bouquet each time. She does it almost unconsciously. Like it's a reflex. Carswell takes his bouquet, pockets the snowdrop, and thanks her. He has a lopsided, devious smile, and she wants to reach up and touch his hair to brush the soot and ash off it.
He probably has a girlfriend. Why else would he buy so many flowers?
"How do you break a curse?" she asks him on a whim once.
"True love's kiss?" he laughs.
.
Persephone dreams of him.
Often. Too often. Under a pale sky.
They sit on the ground, among the soil and bones and flowers. She sings something new and slow and it's because he can't sleep without her voice.
"I think I'm in love with you," he says in a hushed, soft, confused voice.
She wraps her song into a smile and presses it to his lips.
.
"I don't like the rain," Persephone confides.
He doesn't have an umbrella so he's letting her tell him about all about flower symbolism until the weather clears. Her star burns so sharply that it's a miracle she's standing. Well, she has surrendered most of her weight to the counter so maybe it's not that much of a miracle.
She starts to slip and a firm hands pull her up.
"Are you okay?" Carswell asks. It sounds so wrong right now, his name. It sounds so wrong.
"Yes," she tells him firmly.
And then she collapses.
.
Persephone. Persephone. Persephone…
"Cress?"
He sounds so concerned. So worried. She reaches to smooth the crease between his eyebrows, and ends up brushing off the soot in his hair.
There is soil beneath her feet. And bones and flowers. "I want to go home." she tells him.
But she doesn't remember the way back.
.
She wakes up on her bed, in her apartment.
There's a snowdrop cupped inside her palm. Carswell isn't here and it isn't raining. She tells herself it was all a dream, though the most vivid one yet. Carswell doesn't know where she lives anyway. How would he have even been able to bring her back…home?
Her star still aches but she can't bring herself to sing.
.
The next Saturday he doesn't come for his flowers.
She pleads with the manager to keep the store open for just a little longer. A little longer. Just a little. It's hours later before she starts to walk home. Only…where is home?
There's a snowdrop inside her pocket, and a lump in her throat. She finds him in the park, sitting by the pond, surrounded by ducks.
"How do you break a curse?" she asks him, louder this time. Angrier.
He looks at her for so long—just looks at her—that she starts to think that maybe he really doesn't know the answer. He swipes his hand through his hair and stands. It only takes him three steps to reach her.
The hands that cup her face are cold, but she feels warm all over.
"You know," he breathes against her lips.
"Tell me anyway," she says.
.
He shows her.
.
Persephone has a kiss burned between her shoulder blades, and a new name.
My thanks and hugs to everyone who left reviews for the previous chapter. I hope you like this one too.
Happy new year!