Demeter was tired. No, "tired" did not do the dull ache in her very essence, the sharp pain in her bones, and the insanity coiling in her mind any justice. She wasn't tired—she was something more that she could not quite describe. Her feet screamed in protest every time she took a step and her sandals were caked in mud and dirt, worn and threatening to tear at any moment. Her green chiton was wrinkled and equally as worn as her sandals. Lacking her usual jewellery and with little desire to exude divine splendour, she no doubt looked pathetic.
Goddesses rarely looked ugly and Demeter was still uncharacteristically stunning. Perhaps it was more disturbing this way when she portrayed grief and despair as the most beautiful demons that graced the earth. It wasn't that she was ugly, it was that her eyes would never stop moving, never resting, always searching for a miracle just beyond the horizon. It wasn't that she was ugly, it was that there was murder in her voice buried beneath two octaves of desperation and yet she heard nothing at all. It wasn't that she was ugly, it was that all the broken hearts the world had ever shattered had made their home in a goddess who loved too much. It was never that she looked pathetic because she didn't—it was that every sub-atomic particle of her divinity, or of any divinity, had never felt so devastatingly mortal.
But even that did not deter him. Some would love to say that Poseidon is vile by nature and yet there are few moments in life as serene as watching the sea on a calmer day. Perhaps he is vile by circumstance; that is certainly fact as most would attest that the sea is strange and dark and filled with towering beasts that could devour Athens in a single bite. Or perhaps it was the power that came with the crown he wore that day – seashells nestled in black hair – odd but no odder than the gleam in his eyes. Power makes monsters of us all.
He stepped out of the sea draped in glory, sea green robes threaded with gold, no trident in hand but not without its deadly intention. The day was unfairly pretty but Demeter was too desperate to care and unfortunately so was Poseidon. There was a barely-there breeze that gently whispered past the warm, cracking air of Greece and embraced Demeter as a softly as a lover would – a warning. But it meant nothing to her and so he watched, fascinated by the gold of her hair that fell softly around her. Even from the shore he could not miss those gentle eyes, always so warm and caring though now they were clouded over with something else—something that made his skin crawl. The discomfort was fleeting though for he would have her and upon this his mind was set.
When he approached her, the yellow beach melting into green fields, he noticed that the grass beneath his feet seemed to be yellower and browner and more brittle than usual. 'She is angry,' he mused and left it at that. Perhaps he thought he could extinguish her rage or perhaps he simply did not care. If she noticed him she showed no sign and continued to yell her throat raw. He thought to listen for a moment but all he could hear was the softness of her laughter every time he made a fool of their brother.
When Demeter did see him he was only a few metres away. She paused her relentless search for just a moment and that was the moment she would come to regret for centuries after. "Why are you here? Do you bring news of my sweet Persephone?" She choked at the end for her daughter's name was like a poison too painful to slide down her throat.
For a moment Poseidon paused; the name 'Persephone' sounded vaguely familiar though he couldn't recall why. "You should rest. You seem tired," he muttered only now taking in her worn down appearance.
"I can't rest while my daughter is missing, no doubt taken by some vicious scoundrel!" she replied in an ugly tone somewhere between a snarl and a sob.
'A daughter,' Poseidon thought with mild interest. He felt sympathy for his sister but his lust was overpowering, all-encompassing even. "Sit with me." He gestured to the ground beside him. He sounded so sincere and genuine that Demeter sank to the ground even before the words had properly registered. Nobody had shown her such kindness since her search began. Poseidon strode forward and knelt in front of her and she could feel her heart cracking even more than it already had, the reality of her daughter's fate setting in. She wasn't sure when she started crying but she knew that not long after Poseidon wrapped her in his strong arms and let her weep into his shoulder.
After her tears had dried and her broken heart had been hollowed, they sat side by side for a while in amiable silence. The sky clear as day above and the sea calm as ever in the distance—her brother was certainly in a good mood—Demeter finally found herself able to appreciate the beauty of the day though the thought of her missing daughter still ate away her mind. While she stared off into the distance Poseidon kept his gaze only on her. She was dressed simply but she had never looked any less desirable. He yearned to feel her soft lips against his and to drown himself in her characteristic jasmine scent. He wished to embrace her in more than just a companionable way and so he reached across and caressed her hand. Demeter made no move to stop him for she appreciated his brotherly concern.
Poseidon felt encouraged and in an instant, his mouth was on her neck and his grip had tightened around her hand. Demeter immediately understood, though perhaps still too late, as rage and panic threatened to smother her. She voiced her refusals with force, both physical and verbal, but he was already far too lost in his desires. He pushed her down and as he moved over her she kicked him with all the anger and desperation that seemed to be leaking out of her bones. His grip loosened and he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Demeter backed away and thought of the quickest animal to carry her away from the lord of the seas. Perhaps if she had thought for a moment she may have never made the next mistake she'd come to regret so dearly. But rational thought escaped her in that moment and she felt her divine essence rearranging itself, losing the mortal form and taking the shape of a brilliant white mare, all with the fluidity of water. Then she turned and galloped away.
Poseidon stood, moments later, anger overtaking the green of his eyes. The sea behind him had grown violent. How dare she refuse him? Had he not been kind enough? He needed her and thus he would have her and that was just that. He watched her flee, her form shrinking with every moment until she disappeared beyond the Arkadian horizon, and he smiled to himself for she had made this chase too easy. He melted away into a sea breeze and solidified again into the guise of a mighty stallion. Though Demeter had escaped his gaze he followed the direction she had run off in.
Demeter, still in the form of a mare, had found a herd of horses grazing in the fields of Onkius, an Arkadian king. She concealed herself amongst them, hoping that Poseidon would grow tired and return to the sea so she could resume her search. To her utter horror though, she noted a white stallion that reeked of divine power trotting towards the herd, seemingly calm, but even she could not miss the anger brewing in his sea green eyes. She tried to escape but horses blocked her path wherever she turned, upon command of their creator who had fashioned them from the foam of the sea. As she felt Poseidon nearing her and without a way out, panic seized her and she froze, her heart racing and her legs impossibly heavy yet still shaking. Such was the intensity of her fear that she found herself unable to dissolve into air or take another form or even flash away to snowy-peaked Olympus.
Poseidon approached her, all gestures of compassion and gentleness replaced with a violent roughness. She whinnied, pleading with him to let her go, to stop, to show mercy, to be compassionate, to not do what he was about to do. She begged with him in the name of her missing daughter who had been ripped from her mother's loving arms. But he would have her and that was just that. He did not hesitate, not even for a moment, completely ignoring her constant string of "no's" and her panicked crying. He had waited so long for this — for her.
The experience was humiliating and painful. Poseidon was not gentle with her, and he took his sweet time. Demeter never stopped resisting, all the while counting every excruciating second (or was it hours?), intimately aware of every movement they made. She could feel his sweat sticking to her, uncomfortably warm and moist on her skin. The revulsion only added to the numb hatred she had resigned herself to. She tried to twist away but the herd around her closed in and she found herself stuck in a rather awkward and uncomfortable angle, each thrust stabbing painfully inside her.
Perhaps it was the pain or the humiliation or maybe the festering rage that had weeded its way into her heart, but hot tears once again spilled from Demeter's eyes. Her daughter was still out there somewhere, alone and scared, and here Demeter was, trapped beneath the brother who had shown her kindness—false, vile, treacherous kindness. It was a ploy—she cursed his cunning and swore to set fire to the seas—to take her trust and use it to carve away her dignity and shatter her bones, and perhaps her will, stroke by stroke.
Eventually his movements grew sloppier and she doubled her efforts to flee but she herself was already tired and it was no more than a half-hearted attempt easily thwarted. By now his breathing was heavy and he was panting; the sound grated against Demeter's ears and made her stomach twist as bile clawed and slithered into her mouth. When she had almost no fight left in her, Poseidon finally spilled his seed and quietly withdrew.
As soon as he was done, the herd went back to grazing and Demeter staggered away. She turned to gaze into Poseidon's eyes and saw an inkling of concern. Demeter's blood boiled. How dare he? Despite the desire to claw his face off there and then, she gave him one final look of absolute loathing before fleeing to Olympus.
She reappeared in her Olympian chambers in a bright flash, once again in a human form. She could feel his seed, warm and sticky, rubbing against her thighs and, with swift rage, wiped away what she could. She could already sense the life growing inside her and knew that she would bear her bastard brother a child.
Suddenly, it was all too much.
She collapsed in a sobbing heap at the foot of her magnificent golden bed, unfit for any lesser being. If gods could be driven insane, she was certainly teetering on the edge of the narrow bridge between madness and sanity. The loss of her daughter had broken her heart and for a while grief was all she knew. But this had completely shattered her. Gods don't break as easily as mortals but no being is invincible. Demeter certainly wasn't.
The goddess wept and wept, for her sorrow seemed endless. She mourned for her daughter and she wallowed in the hatred and despair brought upon by her own plight as well. But eventually tears run dry and when Demeter could not cry anymore, blinding rage began to seep into her. It consumed her, until anger became the only sensation she could feel, see, or touch.
She simmered in this anger and the accompanying grief, locking herself in isolation in her overbearingly golden Olympian compartments for several months. She would eventually give birth to two children, his children, but she was Demeter and she would love them nonetheless. Then, with cold determination, she set out to find her daughter once again, for that was all she cared for. She needed to bring her home and thus she would bring her home and that was just that.
When she finally left her chambers and descended into the mortal world, none of the other gods batted an eye at her or asked about her two new children. Perhaps they knew what had transpired and respected her enough to not bring it up but then again, when had Olympus ever cared for the plight of a grieving mother or a wronged goddess?
January 2, 2019