Chapter 9 #2
After three years, Persephone still struggled to recognize Demeter.
The version of her who had come to the Underworld was stripped of her burdens and her trauma, untouched by the things that had made her angry and rigid.
This version was soft and sweet. It hurt to realize that this was who she could have been had things been different.
“But you would have been different too,” Hecate had said when Persephone had expressed her heartache. “And the world needed this version of you.”
She understood that. She also understood that Demeter still had the chance to exist as she was now in another life because of Elysium, but there was an irrational part of Persephone that wanted this nurturing mother, which is why she visited.
She started down the hill, golden wheat swaying around her, meeting Demeter in the middle. The goddess took Persephone’s hand, and she suppressed a shiver.
“Persephone!” Demeter said, her voice a stark contrast to her cold, clammy touch. “You should not be on your feet!”
“I am fine, Demeter,” she said with a smile she did not feel. “They say walking is good for the babies.”
“You must be due soon,” her mother said, placing a palm on her stomach. The babies stretched. They always moved when they sensed Demeter, like they knew she was part of their blood. It gave Persephone hope, that one day she might have some kind of relationship with them.
“Hecate says any day now,” Persephone said, though she was starting to think the babies were determined to prove their auntie wrong.
“Oh, I hope I can meet them,” said Demeter. “I adore children.”
“I know.” Persephone swallowed around the thickness in her throat. “Of course, you must meet them. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her gaze dropped to the box as she blinked away tears. It was perfect timing as she realized she could change the subject.
“I brought you something,” she said, handing Demeter the box. “A treat. They are called diples. They’re thin, deep-fried dough doused in honey, cinnamon, and nuts.”
Demeter lifted the lid and the smell wafted between them.
“Oh, they are divine,” Demeter said. “They remind me—”
She paused abruptly, eyes downcast and searching, like she could not quite find the right word.
Persephone held her breath, waiting to discover that she’d been wrong to bring them, only Demeter abandoned the thought.
“Well, anyway,” she said. “Thank you, my dear. Will you sit with me for a little while? Perhaps we can share these?”
“Of course.”
Persephone had many meals with her mother when she was alive, but none of them were pleasant.
When she’d gone to college, she had been both eager and anxious for freedom, still chained by her mother’s expectations.
Their weekly lunches were Demeter’s stage.
She used the time to criticize Persephone’s choices while appearing to fawn over a beloved daughter in public.
Now, when Persephone sat beside her dead mother, their discussions were very different.
While not angry or aggressive, they had no substance.
Demeter usually talked about the sweetness of pomegranates and pears, her love of figs and olives.
She talked about her walks and the paths she took to the sea.
Persephone didn’t exactly mind. Listening to her was like listening to poetry about nature.
It was evident Demeter loved it, and there was peace in that knowledge.
Today, however, was a little different.
She took Persephone to her favorite tree, a lovely willow whose long branches swept the ground.
“Look,” she said, pointing to a hole in the trunk.
Persephone peered into the hollow and saw a nest with three pretty, blue eggs.
“I will have babies of my own soon,” she said, smiling.
Persephone lowered onto the flats of her feet and looked at the soul who had once been her mother. In this moment, she seemed so childlike. It felt sad, but the alternative was worse.
“What kind of bird?” Persephone asked.
“She is a bluebird,” Demeter said. “She brings me things. Flowers and seeds. Lord Thanatos says I can plant them. I think I will, for the babies.”
“I think that sounds lovely,” said Persephone.
She stayed a little while longer and listened to Demeter make plans for her garden, showing off the items her bird had brought her.
They seemed to come from all over the Underworld, Asphodel and Hecate’s cottage, even the palace gardens—twigs and odd, glittering charms, string and ribbons, seeds of all sizes, and dried flowers.
It was evident Demeter cherished each one, and for that, Persephone was happy.
When she rose to leave, she decided to walk, summoning her winter cloak and gloves. As soon as she crested the hills leaving Elysium, Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus met her, tails wagging. They’d brought their red ball which glared off the white snow.
She laughed and told them, “You will have to give it to me. I cannot bend.”
Cerberus pounced on the ball and lifted it to her hand. She took it and waited until they were all sitting before tossing it.
“Go!” she said, and they bolted, leaving deep tracks in the snow.
She continued her walk, pausing when the dogs returned with their ball, passing trees decorated with lights and colorful baubles. It was truly magical, and her chest tightened, overwhelmed with a feeling of deep gratitude for her life and everything it had become.
As she neared Asphodel, she could hear the children playing, and when they spotted her, they ran to her.
“Lady Persephone! Have you come to play?”
She smiled, chest swelling with joy. “I’m afraid I cannot play today,” she said. “But Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus are eager. Would you like to play fetch?”
The dogs barked in excitement and the children took the ball. The group raced into the field to play while Persephone continued into the heart of Asphodel, admiring the work the souls had put into celebrating the holiday.
Every lamppost was wrapped in red ribbon, every home and shop was trimmed with garland, every tree and bush heavy with lights, berries, and pinecones.
The air smelled like roasted chestnuts, sweet bread, and honey.
It made her mouth water, though she’d had plenty of snacks while baking with everyone this morning.
In ancient times, they’d celebrated many winter festivals—Haloa, which honored Demeter and the fertility of women and the land.
Then there was Poseidonia, which was mostly celebrated on the coast to appease Poseidon and ease maritime travel.
Then there was Dionysia and Lenaia, which celebrated Dionysus and included dances and dramas, singing, and lots of wine.
Those events had coalesced into one, Christmas, and instead of honoring the gods, they celebrated family, connection, joy, and kindness.
Persephone preferred it, though she knew there were gods who did not—specifically Poseidon, though he was reminded often his inclusion in the leadership in the Upperworld and his right to continue ruling the sea were a gift that could be revoked at any time.
Few trusted him, especially the mortals. Their worship of him affected his power, and he’d felt the impact of that in the aftermath of the Olympian War. Over the last three years, the God of the Sea had learned where his power truly came from.
“Persephone!”
She looked to her right where she saw Zofie standing with a group of other souls. She smiled at the Amazonian who was wearing an oversized knitted sweater, courtesy of Alma, who had also stitched a giant reindeer on the front.
“Zofie,” she said. “How are you?”
“I am well,” she said. “But have you seen Apollo? We have all been waiting. It is time for practice.”
Since Apollo had come to the Underworld, he had been responsible for organizing and leading artistic programs among the souls. One of his annual events being the Christmas Eve choir.
“I haven’t,” Persephone said, brows lowering. It was unlike Apollo to be late. He was a perfectionist who had high expectations for everyone, particularly for himself. “Hyacinth hasn’t seen him?”
Zofie shook her head. “He says he left their home last night. They had some kind of disagreement.”
A dark feeling fell upon Persephone, knowing that disagreement was likely over the Ascension.
As a deceased god in the Underworld, he was in a unique position.
He could leave Asphodel for any part of the Underworld, a right she and Hades would have revoked if they’d known how much he was struggling.
“Oh no,” she whispered, and then summoned her husband. “Hades!”
The God of the Dead manifested in a plume of black smoke. “Darling,” he said over the cheers of the children who were oblivious to the urgent matter at hand.
“Apollo is missing,” she said.
Hades’s gaze hardened at the news. “I will find him.”
She reached for him, her hand coming to land on his forearm. “Take me with you.”
“Persephone,” he said, hesitating. “This could be…”
“Bad, I know,” she said. “It is bad, but Apollo is my friend, and I want to be there for him.”
Hades was quiet but nodded. She felt the pull of his magic as they teleported, surprised when they appeared on the bank of the Lethe. She’d expected the heat of Tartarus, but somehow, this was so much worse.
“Apollo!” she screamed.
The god kneeled on the snow-covered bank, punching at the ice-covered river.
Hades left Persephone’s side, reaching Apollo in an instant. He tore the god away from the river. He spun, facing Hades, tears streaming down his reddened face.
“Why am I not allowed happiness?” he said, his voice strained.
“You have had three years, Apollo,” Hades said gently.
“That is nothing!”
“It is more than nothing,” said Persephone, approaching. “And are they not memories worth keeping?”
“Not if it hurts this much,” he said, clutching his chest. “I am tired of the pain. I thought that was the point of dying.”
Hades and Persephone exchanged a look, and then she inched closer, placing a hand on his back.
“You know that is not the point of dying,” said Persephone. “You are here to heal.”
“How can I heal when I am being broken again?”
“But you have healed, Apollo,” she said. “More importantly, you have helped Hyacinth so much, he is ready to ascend. Do you not see the role you have played?”
“So you are saying this is my fault?” he said, breath stuttering, as he met her gaze.
“No,” Persephone said. “There are no mistakes here, Apollo.”
“Hyacinth has been here for thousands of years, and in all that time he made no progress until you came,” said Hades. “You have changed him for the better, and because of that, he has a second chance to live a full life, something he did not have in his previous one.”
They were quiet, the silence disturbed by Apollo’s sniffling.
“He has changed and I have not. I am just as selfish as I was the day I arrived.”
“You are in love, Apollo,” said Persephone. “It is not selfish to want the person you care for most to be by your side forever. There will come a day when you have that, when Hyacinth returns for good.”
Apollo swallowed. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“You are never alone, Apollo. We are here for you, always,” said Persephone. Unless he drank from the Lethe, which was truly a lonely existence, but she did not say that aloud. “Oh!”
Apollo’s eyes widened as Persephone bent forward. Her stomach felt tight, like it was being squeezed. She wouldn’t describe what she felt as pain, exactly, but she was definitely uncomfortable.
“Persephone!” Apollo and Hades said in unison.
The God of Music’s hands braced her shoulders like he thought she might fall while Hades’s went to her waist.
“I’m all right,” she said, straightening. The feeling had passed.
“You’re lying,” said Hades.
She glanced up at him, glaring. “I’m not lying. This is just part of giving birth.”
“It’s starting?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” she said. “But I think we are getting close.”
“You mean to say I’ll be an uncle any day now?” asked Apollo.
She smiled. “Yes, Apollo. You will.”