Epitaph Empress
Author's Note: This is my take on the meeting between the two deities, though quite different to anything else I've ever read in mythology novels and fanfics (or so I hope), though the abduction is still a chapter or so off. Again, many thanks to my reviewers - I hope you like the latest instalment!
Epitaph Empress
Chapter III
Nature, the cradle of every beginning in nurturing green became a deathbed.
A flowerbed guarded by kindly tees next to a pristine lake became a tomb.
Thus Persephone discovered her companions.
Disbelief flooded the young Goddess of Spring's senses as her blood curdled and froze into a bitter, cold river of bitter ice, sleet and dread. She had never before known death in its darkest form; forever shielded from nature's harsher temperament by the cocoon of her mother's protectiveness. She had known the death of plants and known the priestesses that dutifully attended her and her mother to mature and age and then slip peacefully away into the embrace of memory, their warm spirits still hovering gracefully around their divine patrons, still full of love, still keenly attending. She had seen nymphs age and fade into the green womb of nature once more until finally becoming a wise and sturdy tree, offering shade and comfort of their branches, the beauty of the twists in their build and the sweetness of their fruit - their enriched gifts to the loved ones that remained. Though plants, sweet, devoted and kindly priestesses and matronly nymphs passed away into a greater realm, the thin threads of their lives never seemed to break. Their spirits and influence remained always, watching and guiding. They never seemed to die.
But this time it was different.
Death's cruel sword had visited Sicily and struck down life there in the form of a sinless wildfire, a force of nature - naïve in creation and destruction. Persephone had requested to join her mother in the healing of the scarred terrain but had - puzzlingly - been refused. Now the maiden Goddess knew why. The cold embrace of Thantos, burning and fervent with untamed flames, leaping and spiting, had struck down a scared tree and now its patron nymph - young Rhoda - must join it in its fiery grave.
She felt a choking sensation overcome her fragile form at this heavy knowledge. The air became stifling, seeking to spite her with every breath she took, painfully reminding her that it was breath denied to her caring guardian, friend and sister. This was death; snatching away without word, warning or sympathy. Her deep green eyes darkened to a shrouding moss shade, stained. In that moment she grew in a way that escapes the years of the Fates in their withered glory, and at the same time she became younger, a lost little girl crying for her mother in the throes of a drowning, violent nightmares that brought hideous fears to terrible life. Just as life was stolen from this sweet nymph, no more to sing, dance, weep, laugh or scold.
Persephone gazed at the beautiful creature, now filthy with life faded from her and the brightness of her spirit stolen into the shadows the young Goddess could not touch. She wanted to cry like a child, run away and pretend all was well, scream and rage in anger at nature and embrace her lost companion tightly with all the love in her gentle heart and protect her dying friend from the shrouded force that seemed to drain the warmth from her.
The nymph Rhoda lay there, limp and still, her breathing ragged as though the flames that had engulfed her matronly tree were hands of fire, scorching her throat raw and burning the life from her young body with a blazing stranglehold. The plants and flowers that adorned her lithe body began to wilt and decay, her pigmented skin began to crumble from its smooth, sensual beauty into a mass of dust and rot, her wild mane of hair and vines thinning before her very eyes. Her eyes seemed to pale as her body did; something crucial being torn away from it yet clinging with every moment while this dark force began to make a brittle and hollow shell of her so-often animated and dancing form, bubbling with laughter and lessons with firm friendship.
Each individual nymph reigned as queens in the young Goddess' heart, their domain growing ever larger with time and new memories and to be wenched away in so brutal and seemingly unnatural fashion was more than young Persephone could bear. It was though a vital part of her being was being roughly torn apart. It was unfair! Her sister was still so young, a mere sapling cruelly hacked down and burnt before fully maturing and experiencing all the rich treasures and wonders that life had to offer! It should not be that way, her mind cried out desperately, hoping her grief at this terrible loss might return her lost friend, as though life could be purchased through tormented tears.
But whatever dealers of life and death out there in the furthest plane of being were not in a bargaining mood and tears interested them not, for they were always offered tears. Rhoda still lay there, feeling a dark embrace surround her, surrendering to the drowsiness that overcame her now frail body, ignorant to the lamentations of her sisters and Persephone - her lady, Goddess, pupil, charge, sister and dearest friend. In the corner of her mind, she heard the sheathing of the scissors of the three Fates, felt the cold metal press ominously against the very thin thread of her life force.
Persephone, feeling too the haunting feeling of doom, fiercely clung to the poor nymph's cold hand, clinging to it tightly in a child's desperate grip, pressing all the warmth and brightness of her being through that comforting embrace. Her hold softened, though the love in it did not seem to falter or lessen, only grew as the innocent immortal clung not from her own need to be with her friend till the end but to offer all the comfort in her vulnerable soul. Her burning eyes created a channel between goddess and nymph, her love shining through the green meadows of her eyes, now flooded with the grieving waters of tears, barely contained. Dying Rhoda sighed and returned the gaze, her eyes offering a rich casket of wonders in such looks of love and devotion and sweet memories that could never be erased as she gazed into the emerald jewels of Persephone's deep gaze, now hidden treasures at the bottom of a lake of sorrows.
They clung to each other, holding hands tenderly and the Fates seemed to stretch the moment in an act of mercy. And then the thread was cut, the nymph gone, Rhoda lost, her happy spirit stolen away to a world of eternal dusk, awaiting a merciful afterlife. The small cluster of mourning nymphs embraced one another in tearful embraces, lamenting the tragic loss.
Persephone froze, disbelieving, an emptiness hollowing her soul. She felt a warm tangle run down her face, before absently noticing they were tears. At that, she collapsed into a fit of sobs, weeping into her small palms, aching from the terrible wound, still bleeding. The nymphs quickly stilled their grief and attended their lady and goddess, hearts ablaze with sympathy for the maiden to whom death was a stranger. They all held her gently, soothing her uncontrollable sobs until, trembling, Persephone drew her hands away from her red and raw face and pulled the now limp and dead hand of her companion in it, and kissed it tenderly. Shaking, she managed to struggle her way to her feet, shock, sadness and the sensing of her sisters' need battling tempestuously within her. She wiped her tears, holding a greater understanding of the nature of death, but with a dislike of its greedy nature. She spoke at last, knowing of her duties.
"Sisters," she began, her melodious voice quavering "today we all feel the cold stab of the loss of one of us, of our sisterhood and loving circle. We have lost Rhoda. I grieve deeply and desperately. . .but I am ready to overcome my sorrow at her loss to do our sister one final honour; to rejuvenate this peaceful land that became her deathbed and to commit her body - body of one, once so very alive with joy and love and loved by us all - to my mother's tender mercy and to Gaia's care. Where our sister fell, a grand and beautiful tree shall stand, to remind all who visit of our dear, sweet friend."
She stood, straight and proud and prepared herself for a duty she had never been able to prepare for. She shivered, not from fear of such a duty, but from the still sharp pains that haunted her mind. The overwhelming grief and knowledge Demeter had failed to hide from her.
She faltered "But first I need a moment alone!" she cried, tears hovering again behind her eyes.
Promptly the nymphs scattered in a flurry of all the neutral, earthy shades of nature, understanding completely. The young deity's mouth trembled and eyes burnt. Why she did not grant them leave to do as they must evaded her. Already, she missed her friend. Persephone stood alone, uncomprehending, hating death.
*****
A whisper, filled with passion and meaning began to disturb the stifling solitude and reverent silence of the Underworld. It raged through the icy onyx halls and chambers, burning them for a brief moment. Hades felt the brief presence fly through and dissolve, the feeling causing the normally stoic and cold Gold to shudder. It was something in direct opposition to his own temperament and utterly foreign in his dark, despairing realm. He had felt nothing like that one spark of intensity, nothing as powerful and provoking, there one minute and gone the next, lost to all the shadows of his domain.
He recognised what it meant, of course. Somehow, an argument had been stirred between him and another immortal. How this happened eluded his sharp mind, for he could barely remember the last time he visited Olympus, feeling so alien, unwanted and shunned in all the brightness of the forms around him. And none visited the Underworld, hardly, apart from the occasional word from Hermes now and then but the small Messenger God was far too good-natured to suddenly hold a grudge without reason.
A groan of impatience and annoyance escaped his icy, thin lips as he wondered how anyone could hold something against one whom they barely saw. Mostly the other deities languished in utter contentment, worrying only with the petty, trying to forget their dark, lonely brother forever busy with his vast, gloomy realm of death. How could a quarrel have begun? His refined brow creased - perhaps Eris had 'graced' Olympus with her spiteful presence and taken it upon herself to stir the bitter brew of discord among them. In that case, it was too insignificant to trouble himself with, as the wailing spirits of the Underworld constantly needed attending to, such was his great duty.
Yet. . .the presence. . .the whisper. . .who had it belonged to? He did not recognise it as any of his better-known brethren. There had been anger, but it was certainly not that of Ares. There had been purity, but it neither belonged to Athena or Artemis. There had been a strange artistry to it but it was not the whispering prophecies and passions of Apollo. Neither did the passion within it belong to Aphrodite. And the great love somehow reminded him of his great-hearted sister Demeter, though it was not her that had disturbed his deathly quiet kingdom.
The enigmatic persona had planted a bloom of curiosity within his logical mind. He was intrigued. Drawing himself up, towering and intimidating, he donned a shroud of shadow, as the very fibres of mortal realm was repulsed by the meaning of his presence and seem to hate him and quail away in horror, rejecting the Lord of the Underworld utterly. Leaving the grand throne, he was encircled in the grasp of darkness like the most nightmarish of nightfalls, ready to meet with this strange immortal unknown to him, that dared belittle all he did, all he was condemned to do alone.
As the shadows around him shrunk away at the dazzling sunlight, he was astounded by the brightness. The sunlight shone a gentle golden-jade through the outstretched leaves and small patches of the long grass, adorned with forests of wildflowers, so delicate and flimsy, illuminated by a few rare shafts of pure brightness through the gaps in the protective branches. His dark aura seemed to eat away at this light, though the sheer intensity of such a stark contrast to all that he knew did not fail to awe even Hades, God of the Dead, cold in body and heart.
Wearing darkness, the comfort and prison he loved and loathed in equal measure, he turned to face the immortal that dwelt in this fruitful paradise. Turned, and stopped in his tracks, frozen by something shocking he could not analyse nor overcome.
There, standing amongst soft shades and scents, caressed by tender nature and gentle colours, a wreath of flowers upon her brow was the most enchanting creature he had ever beheld. Her form was fabulously lit by the sun setting, shaded a calming green by an army of fragile leaves, clothed in a simple pure white robe that betrayed both her naïve innocence and the devastating allure of such a ripe body. She was perfection made flesh. She stood as still as a marble statue, only her crystalline tears moved, her nut-brown locks dancing a slow, mournful dance with a sympathetic breeze, her eyes a maze of feelings and her small hands tightly clasped over her desirable bosom as if in prayer. Her aura seemed to be taken from all things that made the earth beautiful, and Hades felt its maddening gentleness and child-like brightness draw him like a moth to a flame, willing to die in the blaze if only it would quench the flames rising within him.
The Lord of the Underworld felt his hand burst into flame, both longing to comfort this strange goddess and feeling the burning, teasing waves of desire flood into his hollow soul and drown him. It was an unnatural feeling, both a source of wonder and fear. He had never been a foolish victim of Aphrodite! Gazing at this innocent and sad maiden made him burn inside, eaten by such cruel and kind flames. How could she stir such feelings, without even speaking to him, or even moving? Yet it was not merely lust that tore down the icy defences of his blackened heart but something more, for the beautiful being before him. A longing for her; her brightness, the enormous love he sensed within her, an urge to hold her, comfort her. . .
And beautiful she was! Like the flower at his foot, perfectly natural, unconscious in its beauty and so innocent and free. So different from the conventional beauty of grand, graceful and glorious Hera. Yet not like the disarming allure of golden Aphrodite - golden waves of hair, seemingly woven from the sun and a generous, lascivious body, voluptuous and delicate, scantily clad in thin silks that always seemed to tease with the wind, as though she had only just arisen from the sparkling foams of a Cyprus sea. Neither was she like Athena; strong and proud yet womanly and graceful, irresistible in the dangers of seeing that smooth, proud form, the goddess with the deep, powerful eyes of wisdom and abundant dark locks. Even Eris, the Goddess of Discord that stirred trouble between these three grand beauties was somewhat lovely herself, in a twisted yet lustful way, an appearance unnatural yet alluring; her flame-red hair and deep garnet eyes and ivory pallor each contrasting in their bombast, mismatched and incomparable.
Yet this sweet young goddess left them all behind. She was too lovely, even for a divine being. She was ethereal. Her beauty shone through her eyes and aura, a force of power and passion. She was captivating and completely unaware of it. She had struck a chord deep within him, with something so different to him yet so recognisable also, something so similar. She was bewitching.
Had she not turned around, sensing the slow creep of darkness disturbing the peace of her gardens, he could have gazed at her in tormented longing for all eternity. His surprise did not reach his face or movements and so innocent Persephone did not see it. She was blinded by the shock of such a terrible creature - swathed and garbed in shadow, secret and solitude, both frightening and somewhat handsome at the same time. Yet his darkness seemed to swallow and diminish her light and his intimidating noble presence almost brought a shame to her unruly world of laughter, songs, dance, flowers and childlike passions, so full of light and clutter. Like a child, she was both afraid and curious. He unnerved her, a being - netherless a God, she recognised - so unnatural to all she knew. And what was such a God doing, in the realm of her mother, staring at her so intensely with those haunting eyes of blue ice?
She brushed away at her tears with her thin fingers, a movement that would appear gauche on any other, but was graceful when done by her. Hades did not fail to capture this moment with his eyes and memory, trying in vain to dismiss the onslaught of feelings that attacked and overwhelmed him as he held the young immortal within his gaze. How sweet she seemed! The moment seemed stretched to the point of brutality once more as they stared at one another, blue eyes meeting green.
It was Hades that broke the silence "Is there quarrel between us?" he asked bluntly. Never being used to constant discourse, the God of the Dead fumbled unapologetically through his manners. "I am Hades, Son of Cronos, Lord of the Underworld, God of the Dead and Wealth and I have sensed your anger towards me. I would very much like to remedy that, though I am unaware of how I have caused you offence or injury."
She did not know whether to respectful as her mother had instructed, to strike him or weep and beg for her friend back. Yet something about it, though disturbing to her, stirred pity within her kind and understanding spirit. She could not hate. She pushed down her recent grief and the child that she was insisted that she be friendly.
She smiled, a gesture that set his heart alight. "I am Persephone, Daughter of Demeter and Goddess of Spring." She said, the warm smile reaching her musical voice.
"Then I am honoured to meet you, sweet Persephone." He said, taking her hand in his and brushing it with his cold lips. The gesture shocked them both. He was astounded at his nerve and uncharacteristic theatrical flourish at such an action. But how he longed to do it and how soft and warm her skin was! Though a stab of regret visited him as she stared at him awkwardly, her childlike heart rebelling against something so adult and unfamiliar. Yet innocence and ignorance are brothers and both prevailed as Persephone smiled nervously and did not commit it to memory.
"Please let me know how I have caused you anger."
Caution, he warned himself. It would not do to be cruelly blunt with cold logic as he normally was, he had no wish to hurt so innocent a being with harsh words.
Persephone felt a stab of guilt again, a stab of shame at drawing him here. For hating death so. Yet like a child, she would live with a sincere heart and live without lies.
She spoke, strong and brave "I did not wish to draw you to my realm, for my quarrel was not with you, though I admit with regret that it is with all that you are. Today I have felt the icy touch of death and do despise it, I feel like a lost and lonely child, so full of loss and hate."
"Yet she is no child." He murmured in response.
"Yes, I am a maid and lady to my mother, not just a being to play and frolic with friends but to tend my divine duties. I know I must try to be noble as my mother taught but I will not disobey my honesty."
"How may I remedy this?" he asked quietly, his voice low.
She felt tears approaching "I do not know. . ." she said at last, her voice a ghost of a whisper.
"Sweet Persephone, would you ask me to restore life to your fallen companion I would readily do so to keep tears from your eyes but sooner would I tell you something I have learned by tending to death and representing its very nature. Understand that though it may be cruel it is as much a force of nature as birth and life itself. As death by age is a part of nature you understand an appreciate for the release it brings, it is no more sinless than early death. Your friend must have been selected by the wise Fates for a unique reason. It is not a thing to be hated, though I do not believe one such as yourself could ever moved to such depths as hate. I know this is little comfort but I understand the misery that reigns with death, I understand your loss and. . .I know the feeling of alone. I know this knowledge will do nothing for sorrows but it may aid your understanding, which I believe means a great deal to you."
She gave a wan smile "You read me well, my lord Hades."
"I only hope I have offered the daughter of Demeter some comfort."
She nodded slowly, her abundant locks spilling over her shoulders "You have. Thank you. . .very much." her eyes shone with warm sincerity, still pondering over his sad words. The feeling of alone. . .how such words haunted her. To think of a world of death without any sunlight disturbed her and she was suddenly filled with a powerful gush of feeling, of deep and genuine sympathy for the dark God before her. If only he understood the nature of the sunshine the loving smiles and embraces of nature, the glorious riches in scattered blossoms. But before she could offer her own words, though perhaps of childlike simplicity, he was gone, vanished in a dark swirl of shadow.
Though not truly gone. In the shadows of the unseen he lurked still, unable to tear himself free of the sight of the Goddess of Spring. She could not sense him now, though he followed her back to her nymph companions, she could not sense him though she had awakened thousands of new senses within him. She seemed happier now, hiding mournful feelings, abandoning them for hope.
He heard her words of apology and sorrow to her guardians and her offer to honour the lost nymph - Rhoda - by salvaging her body into something greater, as tradition and a loving heart dictated. Together, the 'sisters' laughed as Rhoda would have wished them to and the silvery peals of her laughter echoed in the depths of his lonely soul, her smile lighting up his world.
She wandered out onto the sea of wildflowers, reflecting the brilliant gold of sunlight, walking upon the surface, her feet not even crushing a single stray blade of grass as he strode across to the very centre. She danced. A dance born not of Demeter's teachings or the sensuality of the nymph but of the Spring Goddess' own heart. Her movements were graceful, hypnotic, drawing a gentle force upwards, her dance beckoning, guiding. It was both heavy with grief and light with hope and catharsis. She swung, spun and spiralled with infinite grace and tenderness, still the movements drawing all to her, her sweet, peaceful dance. It could not be mimicked by none as it seemed to be the very spirit of Persephone herself. Stray petals from the loveliest flowers danced in the wind, spiralling upwards around her form then once the silent dance reached a peak they scattered abruptly, surrounding the dead form of Rhoda and as Persephone paused at that peak, Rhoda's corpse could not be seen through the bedazzling flurry of petals. As they fluttered to the ground, the goddess' dance over, Persephone still, the parting flowers revealed a beautiful tree, drawing upwards in strength and shading in affection.
Still he hid, wonder overcoming him. He had to stare in the shadows that hid him. She enchanted him. She bewitched him with her beauty, innocence, sincerity, kindness and that magical dance. He longed to watch her always. He could not bear to have to return to his dark abode, having met this sweet young Goddess of ethereal gold and petal. Every fibre in his being longed for her.
As Persephone watched her sister-nymphs dance and sing in celebration of Rhoda's life she felt a familiar presence. No, not the disturbing yet pitiful darkness of Hades but a golden brightness that seemed to make everything all right once more. her mother. Demeter strode through the tangle of trees, her smile as golden and nurturing as the harvest grain. Though more plump and lined than most other goddess', it only served to make Demeter's kind nature and loving devotion shine through soil-brown eyes. She seemed the very spirit, the very embodiment of motherhood. Her smile and open arms, sensing the sorrows that had plauged her daughter's heart were enough to bring a bittersweet joy to sweet Persephone.
Smiling and then running into Demeter's ready, soothing embrace to sob like a child, mother and daughter remained until the sun slept that night. There, Demeter begged apology for keeping such a truth hidden and for her daughter discovering in such a terrible way. Both wept and told of their woes and their bond strengthened, unbreakable.
Through all this Hades watched, wary of Demeter sensing him. After mother and daughter left the forests and Hades knew he must return to his sombre domain, reluctant to leave such a beautiful, enchanting being. He returned both confused and clear, his heart full of the memory of her face, her words, her smile, her bright laughter, her dance of rebirth and all about her. She had become everything so suddenly. His thoughts were full of Persephone, Maiden Goddess of Spring and the Underworld seemed hat much more dark and solitary without her unique brightness.
Author's Note: This is my take on the meeting between the two deities, though quite different to anything else I've ever read in mythology novels and fanfics (or so I hope), though the abduction is still a chapter or so off. Again, many thanks to my reviewers - I hope you like the latest instalment!
Epitaph Empress
Chapter III
Nature, the cradle of every beginning in nurturing green became a deathbed.
A flowerbed guarded by kindly tees next to a pristine lake became a tomb.
Thus Persephone discovered her companions.
Disbelief flooded the young Goddess of Spring's senses as her blood curdled and froze into a bitter, cold river of bitter ice, sleet and dread. She had never before known death in its darkest form; forever shielded from nature's harsher temperament by the cocoon of her mother's protectiveness. She had known the death of plants and known the priestesses that dutifully attended her and her mother to mature and age and then slip peacefully away into the embrace of memory, their warm spirits still hovering gracefully around their divine patrons, still full of love, still keenly attending. She had seen nymphs age and fade into the green womb of nature once more until finally becoming a wise and sturdy tree, offering shade and comfort of their branches, the beauty of the twists in their build and the sweetness of their fruit - their enriched gifts to the loved ones that remained. Though plants, sweet, devoted and kindly priestesses and matronly nymphs passed away into a greater realm, the thin threads of their lives never seemed to break. Their spirits and influence remained always, watching and guiding. They never seemed to die.
But this time it was different.
Death's cruel sword had visited Sicily and struck down life there in the form of a sinless wildfire, a force of nature - naïve in creation and destruction. Persephone had requested to join her mother in the healing of the scarred terrain but had - puzzlingly - been refused. Now the maiden Goddess knew why. The cold embrace of Thantos, burning and fervent with untamed flames, leaping and spiting, had struck down a scared tree and now its patron nymph - young Rhoda - must join it in its fiery grave.
She felt a choking sensation overcome her fragile form at this heavy knowledge. The air became stifling, seeking to spite her with every breath she took, painfully reminding her that it was breath denied to her caring guardian, friend and sister. This was death; snatching away without word, warning or sympathy. Her deep green eyes darkened to a shrouding moss shade, stained. In that moment she grew in a way that escapes the years of the Fates in their withered glory, and at the same time she became younger, a lost little girl crying for her mother in the throes of a drowning, violent nightmares that brought hideous fears to terrible life. Just as life was stolen from this sweet nymph, no more to sing, dance, weep, laugh or scold.
Persephone gazed at the beautiful creature, now filthy with life faded from her and the brightness of her spirit stolen into the shadows the young Goddess could not touch. She wanted to cry like a child, run away and pretend all was well, scream and rage in anger at nature and embrace her lost companion tightly with all the love in her gentle heart and protect her dying friend from the shrouded force that seemed to drain the warmth from her.
The nymph Rhoda lay there, limp and still, her breathing ragged as though the flames that had engulfed her matronly tree were hands of fire, scorching her throat raw and burning the life from her young body with a blazing stranglehold. The plants and flowers that adorned her lithe body began to wilt and decay, her pigmented skin began to crumble from its smooth, sensual beauty into a mass of dust and rot, her wild mane of hair and vines thinning before her very eyes. Her eyes seemed to pale as her body did; something crucial being torn away from it yet clinging with every moment while this dark force began to make a brittle and hollow shell of her so-often animated and dancing form, bubbling with laughter and lessons with firm friendship.
Each individual nymph reigned as queens in the young Goddess' heart, their domain growing ever larger with time and new memories and to be wenched away in so brutal and seemingly unnatural fashion was more than young Persephone could bear. It was though a vital part of her being was being roughly torn apart. It was unfair! Her sister was still so young, a mere sapling cruelly hacked down and burnt before fully maturing and experiencing all the rich treasures and wonders that life had to offer! It should not be that way, her mind cried out desperately, hoping her grief at this terrible loss might return her lost friend, as though life could be purchased through tormented tears.
But whatever dealers of life and death out there in the furthest plane of being were not in a bargaining mood and tears interested them not, for they were always offered tears. Rhoda still lay there, feeling a dark embrace surround her, surrendering to the drowsiness that overcame her now frail body, ignorant to the lamentations of her sisters and Persephone - her lady, Goddess, pupil, charge, sister and dearest friend. In the corner of her mind, she heard the sheathing of the scissors of the three Fates, felt the cold metal press ominously against the very thin thread of her life force.
Persephone, feeling too the haunting feeling of doom, fiercely clung to the poor nymph's cold hand, clinging to it tightly in a child's desperate grip, pressing all the warmth and brightness of her being through that comforting embrace. Her hold softened, though the love in it did not seem to falter or lessen, only grew as the innocent immortal clung not from her own need to be with her friend till the end but to offer all the comfort in her vulnerable soul. Her burning eyes created a channel between goddess and nymph, her love shining through the green meadows of her eyes, now flooded with the grieving waters of tears, barely contained. Dying Rhoda sighed and returned the gaze, her eyes offering a rich casket of wonders in such looks of love and devotion and sweet memories that could never be erased as she gazed into the emerald jewels of Persephone's deep gaze, now hidden treasures at the bottom of a lake of sorrows.
They clung to each other, holding hands tenderly and the Fates seemed to stretch the moment in an act of mercy. And then the thread was cut, the nymph gone, Rhoda lost, her happy spirit stolen away to a world of eternal dusk, awaiting a merciful afterlife. The small cluster of mourning nymphs embraced one another in tearful embraces, lamenting the tragic loss.
Persephone froze, disbelieving, an emptiness hollowing her soul. She felt a warm tangle run down her face, before absently noticing they were tears. At that, she collapsed into a fit of sobs, weeping into her small palms, aching from the terrible wound, still bleeding. The nymphs quickly stilled their grief and attended their lady and goddess, hearts ablaze with sympathy for the maiden to whom death was a stranger. They all held her gently, soothing her uncontrollable sobs until, trembling, Persephone drew her hands away from her red and raw face and pulled the now limp and dead hand of her companion in it, and kissed it tenderly. Shaking, she managed to struggle her way to her feet, shock, sadness and the sensing of her sisters' need battling tempestuously within her. She wiped her tears, holding a greater understanding of the nature of death, but with a dislike of its greedy nature. She spoke at last, knowing of her duties.
"Sisters," she began, her melodious voice quavering "today we all feel the cold stab of the loss of one of us, of our sisterhood and loving circle. We have lost Rhoda. I grieve deeply and desperately. . .but I am ready to overcome my sorrow at her loss to do our sister one final honour; to rejuvenate this peaceful land that became her deathbed and to commit her body - body of one, once so very alive with joy and love and loved by us all - to my mother's tender mercy and to Gaia's care. Where our sister fell, a grand and beautiful tree shall stand, to remind all who visit of our dear, sweet friend."
She stood, straight and proud and prepared herself for a duty she had never been able to prepare for. She shivered, not from fear of such a duty, but from the still sharp pains that haunted her mind. The overwhelming grief and knowledge Demeter had failed to hide from her.
She faltered "But first I need a moment alone!" she cried, tears hovering again behind her eyes.
Promptly the nymphs scattered in a flurry of all the neutral, earthy shades of nature, understanding completely. The young deity's mouth trembled and eyes burnt. Why she did not grant them leave to do as they must evaded her. Already, she missed her friend. Persephone stood alone, uncomprehending, hating death.
*****
A whisper, filled with passion and meaning began to disturb the stifling solitude and reverent silence of the Underworld. It raged through the icy onyx halls and chambers, burning them for a brief moment. Hades felt the brief presence fly through and dissolve, the feeling causing the normally stoic and cold Gold to shudder. It was something in direct opposition to his own temperament and utterly foreign in his dark, despairing realm. He had felt nothing like that one spark of intensity, nothing as powerful and provoking, there one minute and gone the next, lost to all the shadows of his domain.
He recognised what it meant, of course. Somehow, an argument had been stirred between him and another immortal. How this happened eluded his sharp mind, for he could barely remember the last time he visited Olympus, feeling so alien, unwanted and shunned in all the brightness of the forms around him. And none visited the Underworld, hardly, apart from the occasional word from Hermes now and then but the small Messenger God was far too good-natured to suddenly hold a grudge without reason.
A groan of impatience and annoyance escaped his icy, thin lips as he wondered how anyone could hold something against one whom they barely saw. Mostly the other deities languished in utter contentment, worrying only with the petty, trying to forget their dark, lonely brother forever busy with his vast, gloomy realm of death. How could a quarrel have begun? His refined brow creased - perhaps Eris had 'graced' Olympus with her spiteful presence and taken it upon herself to stir the bitter brew of discord among them. In that case, it was too insignificant to trouble himself with, as the wailing spirits of the Underworld constantly needed attending to, such was his great duty.
Yet. . .the presence. . .the whisper. . .who had it belonged to? He did not recognise it as any of his better-known brethren. There had been anger, but it was certainly not that of Ares. There had been purity, but it neither belonged to Athena or Artemis. There had been a strange artistry to it but it was not the whispering prophecies and passions of Apollo. Neither did the passion within it belong to Aphrodite. And the great love somehow reminded him of his great-hearted sister Demeter, though it was not her that had disturbed his deathly quiet kingdom.
The enigmatic persona had planted a bloom of curiosity within his logical mind. He was intrigued. Drawing himself up, towering and intimidating, he donned a shroud of shadow, as the very fibres of mortal realm was repulsed by the meaning of his presence and seem to hate him and quail away in horror, rejecting the Lord of the Underworld utterly. Leaving the grand throne, he was encircled in the grasp of darkness like the most nightmarish of nightfalls, ready to meet with this strange immortal unknown to him, that dared belittle all he did, all he was condemned to do alone.
As the shadows around him shrunk away at the dazzling sunlight, he was astounded by the brightness. The sunlight shone a gentle golden-jade through the outstretched leaves and small patches of the long grass, adorned with forests of wildflowers, so delicate and flimsy, illuminated by a few rare shafts of pure brightness through the gaps in the protective branches. His dark aura seemed to eat away at this light, though the sheer intensity of such a stark contrast to all that he knew did not fail to awe even Hades, God of the Dead, cold in body and heart.
Wearing darkness, the comfort and prison he loved and loathed in equal measure, he turned to face the immortal that dwelt in this fruitful paradise. Turned, and stopped in his tracks, frozen by something shocking he could not analyse nor overcome.
There, standing amongst soft shades and scents, caressed by tender nature and gentle colours, a wreath of flowers upon her brow was the most enchanting creature he had ever beheld. Her form was fabulously lit by the sun setting, shaded a calming green by an army of fragile leaves, clothed in a simple pure white robe that betrayed both her naïve innocence and the devastating allure of such a ripe body. She was perfection made flesh. She stood as still as a marble statue, only her crystalline tears moved, her nut-brown locks dancing a slow, mournful dance with a sympathetic breeze, her eyes a maze of feelings and her small hands tightly clasped over her desirable bosom as if in prayer. Her aura seemed to be taken from all things that made the earth beautiful, and Hades felt its maddening gentleness and child-like brightness draw him like a moth to a flame, willing to die in the blaze if only it would quench the flames rising within him.
The Lord of the Underworld felt his hand burst into flame, both longing to comfort this strange goddess and feeling the burning, teasing waves of desire flood into his hollow soul and drown him. It was an unnatural feeling, both a source of wonder and fear. He had never been a foolish victim of Aphrodite! Gazing at this innocent and sad maiden made him burn inside, eaten by such cruel and kind flames. How could she stir such feelings, without even speaking to him, or even moving? Yet it was not merely lust that tore down the icy defences of his blackened heart but something more, for the beautiful being before him. A longing for her; her brightness, the enormous love he sensed within her, an urge to hold her, comfort her. . .
And beautiful she was! Like the flower at his foot, perfectly natural, unconscious in its beauty and so innocent and free. So different from the conventional beauty of grand, graceful and glorious Hera. Yet not like the disarming allure of golden Aphrodite - golden waves of hair, seemingly woven from the sun and a generous, lascivious body, voluptuous and delicate, scantily clad in thin silks that always seemed to tease with the wind, as though she had only just arisen from the sparkling foams of a Cyprus sea. Neither was she like Athena; strong and proud yet womanly and graceful, irresistible in the dangers of seeing that smooth, proud form, the goddess with the deep, powerful eyes of wisdom and abundant dark locks. Even Eris, the Goddess of Discord that stirred trouble between these three grand beauties was somewhat lovely herself, in a twisted yet lustful way, an appearance unnatural yet alluring; her flame-red hair and deep garnet eyes and ivory pallor each contrasting in their bombast, mismatched and incomparable.
Yet this sweet young goddess left them all behind. She was too lovely, even for a divine being. She was ethereal. Her beauty shone through her eyes and aura, a force of power and passion. She was captivating and completely unaware of it. She had struck a chord deep within him, with something so different to him yet so recognisable also, something so similar. She was bewitching.
Had she not turned around, sensing the slow creep of darkness disturbing the peace of her gardens, he could have gazed at her in tormented longing for all eternity. His surprise did not reach his face or movements and so innocent Persephone did not see it. She was blinded by the shock of such a terrible creature - swathed and garbed in shadow, secret and solitude, both frightening and somewhat handsome at the same time. Yet his darkness seemed to swallow and diminish her light and his intimidating noble presence almost brought a shame to her unruly world of laughter, songs, dance, flowers and childlike passions, so full of light and clutter. Like a child, she was both afraid and curious. He unnerved her, a being - netherless a God, she recognised - so unnatural to all she knew. And what was such a God doing, in the realm of her mother, staring at her so intensely with those haunting eyes of blue ice?
She brushed away at her tears with her thin fingers, a movement that would appear gauche on any other, but was graceful when done by her. Hades did not fail to capture this moment with his eyes and memory, trying in vain to dismiss the onslaught of feelings that attacked and overwhelmed him as he held the young immortal within his gaze. How sweet she seemed! The moment seemed stretched to the point of brutality once more as they stared at one another, blue eyes meeting green.
It was Hades that broke the silence "Is there quarrel between us?" he asked bluntly. Never being used to constant discourse, the God of the Dead fumbled unapologetically through his manners. "I am Hades, Son of Cronos, Lord of the Underworld, God of the Dead and Wealth and I have sensed your anger towards me. I would very much like to remedy that, though I am unaware of how I have caused you offence or injury."
She did not know whether to respectful as her mother had instructed, to strike him or weep and beg for her friend back. Yet something about it, though disturbing to her, stirred pity within her kind and understanding spirit. She could not hate. She pushed down her recent grief and the child that she was insisted that she be friendly.
She smiled, a gesture that set his heart alight. "I am Persephone, Daughter of Demeter and Goddess of Spring." She said, the warm smile reaching her musical voice.
"Then I am honoured to meet you, sweet Persephone." He said, taking her hand in his and brushing it with his cold lips. The gesture shocked them both. He was astounded at his nerve and uncharacteristic theatrical flourish at such an action. But how he longed to do it and how soft and warm her skin was! Though a stab of regret visited him as she stared at him awkwardly, her childlike heart rebelling against something so adult and unfamiliar. Yet innocence and ignorance are brothers and both prevailed as Persephone smiled nervously and did not commit it to memory.
"Please let me know how I have caused you anger."
Caution, he warned himself. It would not do to be cruelly blunt with cold logic as he normally was, he had no wish to hurt so innocent a being with harsh words.
Persephone felt a stab of guilt again, a stab of shame at drawing him here. For hating death so. Yet like a child, she would live with a sincere heart and live without lies.
She spoke, strong and brave "I did not wish to draw you to my realm, for my quarrel was not with you, though I admit with regret that it is with all that you are. Today I have felt the icy touch of death and do despise it, I feel like a lost and lonely child, so full of loss and hate."
"Yet she is no child." He murmured in response.
"Yes, I am a maid and lady to my mother, not just a being to play and frolic with friends but to tend my divine duties. I know I must try to be noble as my mother taught but I will not disobey my honesty."
"How may I remedy this?" he asked quietly, his voice low.
She felt tears approaching "I do not know. . ." she said at last, her voice a ghost of a whisper.
"Sweet Persephone, would you ask me to restore life to your fallen companion I would readily do so to keep tears from your eyes but sooner would I tell you something I have learned by tending to death and representing its very nature. Understand that though it may be cruel it is as much a force of nature as birth and life itself. As death by age is a part of nature you understand an appreciate for the release it brings, it is no more sinless than early death. Your friend must have been selected by the wise Fates for a unique reason. It is not a thing to be hated, though I do not believe one such as yourself could ever moved to such depths as hate. I know this is little comfort but I understand the misery that reigns with death, I understand your loss and. . .I know the feeling of alone. I know this knowledge will do nothing for sorrows but it may aid your understanding, which I believe means a great deal to you."
She gave a wan smile "You read me well, my lord Hades."
"I only hope I have offered the daughter of Demeter some comfort."
She nodded slowly, her abundant locks spilling over her shoulders "You have. Thank you. . .very much." her eyes shone with warm sincerity, still pondering over his sad words. The feeling of alone. . .how such words haunted her. To think of a world of death without any sunlight disturbed her and she was suddenly filled with a powerful gush of feeling, of deep and genuine sympathy for the dark God before her. If only he understood the nature of the sunshine the loving smiles and embraces of nature, the glorious riches in scattered blossoms. But before she could offer her own words, though perhaps of childlike simplicity, he was gone, vanished in a dark swirl of shadow.
Though not truly gone. In the shadows of the unseen he lurked still, unable to tear himself free of the sight of the Goddess of Spring. She could not sense him now, though he followed her back to her nymph companions, she could not sense him though she had awakened thousands of new senses within him. She seemed happier now, hiding mournful feelings, abandoning them for hope.
He heard her words of apology and sorrow to her guardians and her offer to honour the lost nymph - Rhoda - by salvaging her body into something greater, as tradition and a loving heart dictated. Together, the 'sisters' laughed as Rhoda would have wished them to and the silvery peals of her laughter echoed in the depths of his lonely soul, her smile lighting up his world.
She wandered out onto the sea of wildflowers, reflecting the brilliant gold of sunlight, walking upon the surface, her feet not even crushing a single stray blade of grass as he strode across to the very centre. She danced. A dance born not of Demeter's teachings or the sensuality of the nymph but of the Spring Goddess' own heart. Her movements were graceful, hypnotic, drawing a gentle force upwards, her dance beckoning, guiding. It was both heavy with grief and light with hope and catharsis. She swung, spun and spiralled with infinite grace and tenderness, still the movements drawing all to her, her sweet, peaceful dance. It could not be mimicked by none as it seemed to be the very spirit of Persephone herself. Stray petals from the loveliest flowers danced in the wind, spiralling upwards around her form then once the silent dance reached a peak they scattered abruptly, surrounding the dead form of Rhoda and as Persephone paused at that peak, Rhoda's corpse could not be seen through the bedazzling flurry of petals. As they fluttered to the ground, the goddess' dance over, Persephone still, the parting flowers revealed a beautiful tree, drawing upwards in strength and shading in affection.
Still he hid, wonder overcoming him. He had to stare in the shadows that hid him. She enchanted him. She bewitched him with her beauty, innocence, sincerity, kindness and that magical dance. He longed to watch her always. He could not bear to have to return to his dark abode, having met this sweet young Goddess of ethereal gold and petal. Every fibre in his being longed for her.
As Persephone watched her sister-nymphs dance and sing in celebration of Rhoda's life she felt a familiar presence. No, not the disturbing yet pitiful darkness of Hades but a golden brightness that seemed to make everything all right once more. her mother. Demeter strode through the tangle of trees, her smile as golden and nurturing as the harvest grain. Though more plump and lined than most other goddess', it only served to make Demeter's kind nature and loving devotion shine through soil-brown eyes. She seemed the very spirit, the very embodiment of motherhood. Her smile and open arms, sensing the sorrows that had plauged her daughter's heart were enough to bring a bittersweet joy to sweet Persephone.
Smiling and then running into Demeter's ready, soothing embrace to sob like a child, mother and daughter remained until the sun slept that night. There, Demeter begged apology for keeping such a truth hidden and for her daughter discovering in such a terrible way. Both wept and told of their woes and their bond strengthened, unbreakable.
Through all this Hades watched, wary of Demeter sensing him. After mother and daughter left the forests and Hades knew he must return to his sombre domain, reluctant to leave such a beautiful, enchanting being. He returned both confused and clear, his heart full of the memory of her face, her words, her smile, her bright laughter, her dance of rebirth and all about her. She had become everything so suddenly. His thoughts were full of Persephone, Maiden Goddess of Spring and the Underworld seemed hat much more dark and solitary without her unique brightness.