What made her do it?
She wasn't sure right now. After the heat had worn off, she'd thought of her actions with horror. There was no way that had been her. Not her, not the sweet, innocent young girl. Not Kore at all.
Not Kore, but Persephone.
Was it love? Was it hurt, jealousy, anger, pride, anything?
For so long she'd closed her eyes. Turned away from the glances that flew across the dinner table. The nymph was simply a companion for Kore, brought in to help amuse her while he was busy. She hadn't really believed, but neither had she wanted to question. That would involve looking into her own feelings for him – and she wasn't ready for that.
But then – was it only yesterday? She'd been forced to see. By accident, but there was no more pretending now. The two of them, passionately locked in an embrace. His hands - her husband's hands – on the body of another woman.
He'd seen here and pulled away, excuse, apologies, she couldn't listen. She had run, locked herself in her room and drowned out the knocks with her own sobs, head buried in a pillow.
But that was so silly! She didn't love him. She shouldn't care. She didn't even want to be here, to be his wife. She'd never shared his bed and so had no right to be angry. He was only her husband in a legal sense – and hardly even that, as their marriage had not been recognized by Hera.
All night she spoke those words to herself and by morning she almost believed them. She said nothing to her husband, but pulled the nymph out for a walk. There needed to be a few rules set by the wife for the mistress.
The nymph readily agreed to all her conditions, obviously glad that the goddess held no ill will. They talked and strolled, and Kore began to feel extreme dislike for the older woman. She couldn't really find anything in particular – she just…hated her.
And then…that comment. That one, small remark that changed everything. That made her turn and stare at the nymph in disbelief. Who didn't notice and kept talking. And Kore reached back and slapped…
No, that was not Kore. Kore didn't hit. Hitting was primitive and childish – well, perhaps it was her, but the rest was Persephone.
A green handprint appeared on the nymph's cheek, and she backed away in surprise and perhaps fear. "I though…"
As it turned out, Persephone did have a problem with her husband's mistress. She cared a lot.
It was hard to think of what had happened next. Menthe fell and Persephone extended a hand and there was light so strong that she covered her eyes.
When she looked up again, Menthe was gone. A sharp scent hung in the air, strong, tangy, rising from a diminutive plant on the ground. She picked it up and stared at it quite emotionlessly. The result of her first fit of rage as a goddess.
Who knew she could create plants out of anger?
And now she walks back inside, holding the little twig with the green leaves. Sees him in the courtroom, obviously nervous. Places the mint on the table and notes his growing realization – stem the color of the nymph's hair, leaves the same green as her eyes had been.
And she smiles.
