Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
P ersephone
I cannot define the divide between the sea and the stars. Bioluminescent organisms ride calm waves toward the shore of a white sandy beach, bracketed by a cove of sandstone peaks that rise high in pillars from the ground. Between the crevices of their time-hewn stone are rivers of crystalline white quartz that capture the glow of the sea.
Looming over the smaller mountains of sandstone is another that is so massive, it seems to overlook the entirety of the realm. I think it may even be the mountain in which the Palace of Hades sprouts, though I can’t see the Palace from here. That mountain—the black mountain—had stood before I’d birthed life into the realm with the sacrificial blood of my stolen innocence in another lifetime.
It is so massive that even the stars do not overlook its peak, and it appears to be formed entirely of onyx and obsidian. Even from here, I think I can see the etchings of deep designs that remind me of earthly runes stamped to ancient cave walls.
After my talk with Hecate, I’d climbed on Aethon’s back and he’d moved out into the spread of everlasting night. Like Alastor, he must be able to understand the words spoken in his presence, because without me urging him in any direction, he simply began his trek.
This was where we ended up. At the sea.
Exactly where Hecate said I should travel.
Now, I’m in awe. When I initially awoke in the Underworld, I thought I'd never see anything like the ceiling of Hades’ bedroom. Then, I foolishly believed the grove of Persephone would be the most exquisite thing I would witness in my entire life. I think, perhaps, I might be wrong on both counts.
The shimmering waters of the sea that bleed into the twinkling night sky is utterly breathtaking. I am alone on the beach, just me and Aethon.
Oh, and my thoughts, of course. My mind is a mess, but what's new?
I lived a whole other life centuries ago, a life I'm getting snapshots of now. It's difficult to identify myself within the girl who came before me.
She was so innocent in a shamefully naive way. It's hard not to be frustrated with her, because how could she have been so foolish? How could times have been so vastly different that she would believe the tutelage of a vicious Goddess who clearly had never loved her? How could she have been so desperate for the love of a mother incapable of such an emotion, that she missed the obvious love of her husband?
I just don’t understand the girl I’d been, or the reasons I had for the sins I’d so clearly enacted.
I'm frustrated, and I am tired.
I am tired because I can see no way that telling Hades of her na?veté could be beneficial to our relationship now.
And it’s not like he wasn’t complicit. Clearly, he enjoyed sharing her. He never stopped it. She'd been hoping with a desperation that made me ache even now, that he would intervene. That he would claim her in front of everyone, for all to see. That he might one day declare her as his, exclusively.
Under Demeter’s scheming tutelage, the girl whom I shared my soul had tried desperately to push the God of the Dead to a point of snapping so that he might forbid her from sharing herself with others. And had he fought for her, she would have surrendered to his every desire happily.
I am disappointed to know that he stood by and watched again and again as she foolishly slaughtered the very heart that beat in her chest.
These are the thoughts that have been playing on a loop in my mind.
I can't say how long I've been here, but it's been a while.
I'm trying to find peace. I am trying to reconcile with the girl that I once was, so that, perhaps, I can be better in this life. For myself and for Hades. But I'm still missing so many essential pieces. My picture of the past is jagged and blurry and wrought with uncertainty.
The touch of the sea is cool. Gentle waves roll over my bare feet, and pebbles of a perfectly white sand slide between my toes. My gown is bunched up by my hips, and I have no worries that someone might find me here. Hecate is the only one who knows I've come, and I don't think she's going to tell anyone of my whereabouts. At least not soon.
I've spent my entire life alone. From my very early years, I have known what it means to crave attention. To yearn for affection. To ache for connection.
I've always been the ‘weird girl’.
The one who heard voices in her mind.
No, not voices. A single, persistent voice.
Even though I'd hid the voice for years, those in my life never forgot. Not really. Our town was a small one. A God-fearing town with people quick to see the devil.
I had existed most of my life, isolated. People were kind, of course. Mom and Dad were in good standing in our small town. They gave time and resources to the Church, and they were quick to do the same to all who found themselves in need.
People offered small talk where necessary, and surface smiles when it was appropriate they hold their tongues.
Kids were the worst, though. Whispers of the parents never failed to fall from the barbed tips of little tongues. It was through those words, the taunts, and shuns that I learned. I learned to be okay being alone.
But since Greece—since Hades, I've come to need him in a way I thought I would never need anyone. I've come to crave him beyond the craving I held inside for basic connection and affection.
He's infected the very blood in my veins.
He has invaded the marrow that swims in my bones.
I've never been whole, because I've always been the other half of him .
I don't care what he says about us not being soul mates. I know that I am his. I know he is mine. The sting of his rejection does not lessen that knowing.
And the knowing doesn't lessen the sting.
Inhaling deeply, I exhale loudly. I once heard a yoga instructor call it ocean breathing. And because I'm here, sitting before the most exquisite crystalline sea, I figure it is fitting.
Deep ocean breath in, deep ocean breath out.
I could live here in the Underworld for eternity, but I'm going to have to return to the living realm soon.
I can't imagine that my mom isn't losing her mind over the fact I've not answered my phone. And God knows, knowing my father, my disappearance has likely caused him to book a flight, in which case he's going to be very unimpressed.
Perhaps time in the Underworld passes differently than in the living realm. Perhaps my weeks here are seconds in the realm above.
I can hope, because I really don't want to deal with the fallout of my disappearance with my parents. Greece will be a long-forgotten memory if my father books that flight.
I'm about to flop back on the sand, a whole new loop of anxiety playing in my mind, but something in the distance catches my eye. Something that snags my heart, because it's not just in the distance— it's moving closer.
Flashes of silver, blue, and white break the bioluminescent water, and fear grips me. Aethon must sense it, because he snuffs behind me. I should look at him. I should stand, climb atop him, and urge him to run.
But I do none of that.
Probably because I can't move .
I am paralyzed. I swear to all that is holy, what moves toward me, is a mermaid.
It's the very same mermaid I thought I saw off Hades’ yacht, when I thought I was losing my mind.
It moves impossibly fast, so fast, I hardly have a moment to collect my thoughts before it is there. The luminescent sea waters ignite the mermaid—no, not mermaid. Merman.
Cast in an ethereal glow, he is exquisite. Through the sparkling waters, I can see him plainly. All of him. His silvery-blue fish tail— oh, my god, the man has a fish tail! —swishes gently in the clear water. Pebbles of glassy water droplets cling to ebony skin that looks honest-to-God, carved of stone. His hair is a shocking fall of long white that makes me think of Ariel’s father, which is the cherry on the very top of a very tall cake of insanity. What’s more, those long locks of white hair aren’t wet at all, and the man—maid—merman…
Argh, this is so complicated! The merman’s hair should be sopping wet, but it isn’t. It remains dry, the waves silky sleek, as though he wasn’t entirely submerged only seconds before.
It’s magic, I decide. It must be.
But all of that isn’t what catches and holds my attention prisoner. It isn’t what snags the breaths from my very lungs and leaves me gasping as though I’ve been dragged out to the deep dark of the sea where sea and stars meet. What holds me entirely captivated is the iridescent glow of his shocking blue eyes.
I can't look away from his eyes even as fear bludgeons my quivering heart.
Beyond the fear, though, there is a pinprick of recognition.
It's more than just having seen him in the waters beyond Hades’ yacht.
I've seen him before in another life .
I've spoken with him.
I trusted him.
It comes to me then like a repressed memory from the rubble of a collapsed mountain of trauma, and I immediately know who he is.
“Poseidon,” I whisper his name—the name of the God of the Seas.
The sound of this name on my lips is a shock to my system, even though that’s silly considering my most recent months. And the Gods who have appeared, very real, in my life.
Shocked as I am, the God of the Seas doesn’t seem even the least bit surprised that I know who he is. A wide grin splits his handsome face, and my jaw drops as his silvery blue fin splits in two.
I don’t know where his scales go—but they’re gone rather fast. A blink, maybe two and boom—legs.
Powerful, muscular legs and a?—
Oh, holy HELL!
The God of the Sea begins to move, emerging, wholly naked from the water.
“Hello, Persephone. It’s been far, far too long.”