It seemed that I watched her grow up for eternity, merely watching from
afar-never approaching, never touching. I longed for her, yet even more I
feared the look of dread in her eyes and the fearfully submissive manner in
which she would greet me should I approach her.
After all, everyone dreads the lord of Hell.
But by the time she had aged sixteen years, I could no longer content myself with simply watching her. And so, in my own dark ways, I began to court the daughter of Demeter.
At first I courted her with simple and innocent things; they were childish games, really. I forced small newborn gemstones out of the ground for her to play with and caused daisies to spring out of the ground in her footsteps, small gifts that never failed to delight her-and also her companions, the dark-haired, blue-eyed daughters of Oceanos. They were beautiful I suppose, but they were nothing to Persephone's golden luminosity, and they began to irritate me with their giggles and chatter that distracted Persephone from
Eventually, I tried to lure her away from her friends by creating blossoms of exquisite beauty for her to admire. Once, it was a rambling vine decorated with small, sweet blossoms colored with every shade of Iris's rainbow. Another time it was a fragrant rose with petals the hue of the cerulean evening sky, and still another it was an enormous fire lily with all the colors of the flaming sunset in its depths. She adored these flowers with joy and wonder, but the maidens soon caught up and would crowd around her, immersing her once more in mindless chatter. But despite the annoyance her companions, these games satisfied me for a while. I drank of the delighted smile that would adorn her face upon discovering these gifts and breathed her melodious cries of surprise and joy. The long hours in my cold, lonely Underworld were filled with dreaming and inventing my next offering to the lovely celestial daughter.
I once made the mistake of journeying to Olympus to ask Zeus for her hand in marriage, but my brother is a crude lecher with a wandering eye, and I suspect that his eye had also fallen on my beautiful Persephone. He scorned my request with a blunt refusal, stating that such a delicate flower would be wasted in my stony, sunless kingdom.
The Lord of the Sky never misses an opportunity to rub my misfortunately drawn lot in my immortal face.
It is not difficult to see why I returned to my hall in a temper. However, instead of hurling a few lightning bolts, as Zeus would have done, or brewing up a tempest, as my other brother Poseidon would have done, I focused my passionate anger into passionate love for Persephone and concentrated it all into a single flower. It was a formidable plant, larger than the fire lily, more fragrant than the azure rose, and more colorful than the rambling vine. It had one hundred blossoms, each a different hue, all blending and melting together so that one couldn't tell where one color ended and the next began. It was a narcissus, the namesake of that vain nymph who wasted away by the mountainside pool.
As the Fates would have it, Persephone was out walking alone that day. She strolled along, sweet in her innocence and singing a simple tune in her clear, bird-like voice. I remember with painful clarity how her verdant eyes widened with wonder as she first beheld that wickedly beautiful flower; how her sweet rosebud lips parted with joy as she knelt to pluck the flower with her lily-white hand.
How her eyes widened still further with fear as the ground erupted and my black horses and chariot exploded from beneath.
How she stumbled backward like a frightened doe.
How that voice, which had just a moment ago been lifted in happy song, ripped from her throat in a terrified scream as my iron-strong arms enclosed her slender waist.
How she trembled like a leaf in my arms, not from passion as I had always dreamed, but from sheer terror as I plunged back into the Underworld.
And how above us, the ground closed and all was dark.
After all, everyone dreads the lord of Hell.
But by the time she had aged sixteen years, I could no longer content myself with simply watching her. And so, in my own dark ways, I began to court the daughter of Demeter.
At first I courted her with simple and innocent things; they were childish games, really. I forced small newborn gemstones out of the ground for her to play with and caused daisies to spring out of the ground in her footsteps, small gifts that never failed to delight her-and also her companions, the dark-haired, blue-eyed daughters of Oceanos. They were beautiful I suppose, but they were nothing to Persephone's golden luminosity, and they began to irritate me with their giggles and chatter that distracted Persephone from
Eventually, I tried to lure her away from her friends by creating blossoms of exquisite beauty for her to admire. Once, it was a rambling vine decorated with small, sweet blossoms colored with every shade of Iris's rainbow. Another time it was a fragrant rose with petals the hue of the cerulean evening sky, and still another it was an enormous fire lily with all the colors of the flaming sunset in its depths. She adored these flowers with joy and wonder, but the maidens soon caught up and would crowd around her, immersing her once more in mindless chatter. But despite the annoyance her companions, these games satisfied me for a while. I drank of the delighted smile that would adorn her face upon discovering these gifts and breathed her melodious cries of surprise and joy. The long hours in my cold, lonely Underworld were filled with dreaming and inventing my next offering to the lovely celestial daughter.
I once made the mistake of journeying to Olympus to ask Zeus for her hand in marriage, but my brother is a crude lecher with a wandering eye, and I suspect that his eye had also fallen on my beautiful Persephone. He scorned my request with a blunt refusal, stating that such a delicate flower would be wasted in my stony, sunless kingdom.
The Lord of the Sky never misses an opportunity to rub my misfortunately drawn lot in my immortal face.
It is not difficult to see why I returned to my hall in a temper. However, instead of hurling a few lightning bolts, as Zeus would have done, or brewing up a tempest, as my other brother Poseidon would have done, I focused my passionate anger into passionate love for Persephone and concentrated it all into a single flower. It was a formidable plant, larger than the fire lily, more fragrant than the azure rose, and more colorful than the rambling vine. It had one hundred blossoms, each a different hue, all blending and melting together so that one couldn't tell where one color ended and the next began. It was a narcissus, the namesake of that vain nymph who wasted away by the mountainside pool.
As the Fates would have it, Persephone was out walking alone that day. She strolled along, sweet in her innocence and singing a simple tune in her clear, bird-like voice. I remember with painful clarity how her verdant eyes widened with wonder as she first beheld that wickedly beautiful flower; how her sweet rosebud lips parted with joy as she knelt to pluck the flower with her lily-white hand.
How her eyes widened still further with fear as the ground erupted and my black horses and chariot exploded from beneath.
How she stumbled backward like a frightened doe.
How that voice, which had just a moment ago been lifted in happy song, ripped from her throat in a terrified scream as my iron-strong arms enclosed her slender waist.
How she trembled like a leaf in my arms, not from passion as I had always dreamed, but from sheer terror as I plunged back into the Underworld.
And how above us, the ground closed and all was dark.