❛THEY WOULD TELL YOU OF A KING WHO STOLE ME HELPLESS FROM MY SUNSHINE GARDEN.❜
They won't tell you about the woman who came to him sublime, lily eyes and lily lips. A king does not ask permission from his prize, but she, oh she, she knelt, kissing m...
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HALL OF HADES, THE UNDERWORLD.
PERSEPHONE
THE CORRIDORS OF THE UNDERWORLD WERE HEAVY WITH THE DEEP, THRUMMING MELODY OF THE LUTE AS IT WAFTED ABOUT, TANGLING WITH THE HEADY SMELL OF SWEET CHAMPAGNE.
Hecate stood behind me, a procession of her velvet clad deities marching behind. Their deep purple robes fluttered about in the cold breeze of the hall like forlorn lilies. Each carried an assortment of items, one bore an inky black pitcher filled with starry waters, another carried an ornate box of lapis lazuli clasped with diamonds.
The Goddess of Witchcraft kept her face impassive as her grip on my hand never faltered, barking orders at the shades scattered across the passageway. In the deep golden light of the exquisitely wrought candelabras, her face kept being cast in shadows, making the emerald of her eyes shine in the darkness like gemstones that had seen the light of the day after centuries.
“Do not fall,” she warned, her voice ominously heavy as the party escorted me to the entrance of the Hall of Hades.
“I have never worn such a long dress-” my words barely came out as a whisper, a direct result of my nervous heart beating faster and faster by the eternal second.
“Do not fumble with the vows,” she went on, washing out my pleas with a mere scowl, frowning as silk creases appeared on her disapproving forehead.
“I-”
“It is time. Come,” Hecate cut me off, her hand now on the small of my back - barely noticing my clenched fists as I shook with roused anger, feeling atrocities bubble up at the tip of my tongue as I was pushed into the antechamber.
The man standing in the darkness turned to me, and relief washed over me like a tidal wave as cries broke out of my painted lips.
“Father!”
A smile broke out on Zeus’s face, thawing over his cold features like the sun melting across the weary ice of winter. The brilliant blue of his eyes twinkled like constellations as he held out his hands for me, his expression laced with concern.
I took a step towards him, before the anger in me reminded to stay me rooted to the spot.
“Persephone,” he said quietly, his voice wary, measured. The light caught the gold in his hair, making him look older than he already was. Worry lined his features, a desperate look shining in his eyes as he saw me standing there, desolate in my bridal finery.
