A Bloom So Deadly: Hades and Persephone Retold

The Theory

Persephone stood still for a moment after the lock on her door tumbled.

How disastrous.

It had been nearly four hundred years since she cried. Not even Ares, having done what he did, had made her break her mother's challenge. And she would not cry now, but, oh, how her eyes stung with it.

She crossed over to the vanity and gently laid the piece of obsidian there before taking a seat and looking at herself. Gods, it was no wonder he had rejected her advance. There were bits of shrubbery sticking out of her hair. With a frustrated groan, she set to untangling them. Several times she had to stop and clench her eyes shut (careful to rub at her eyes first so she could say no tear had fallen) to will away the nausea that tumbled in her gut.

When she was done, she stared at herself in the mirror, watched how heat of embarrassment rose to her reflection's face. Persephone tore herself from the seat and undressed with shaking hands, sliding one of the gowns Hecate had provided over her head before burying herself in the bed.

Stupid, useless girl.

She had tried. She had thought, maybe -

When she stepped closer to him in the hedge maze, close enough to make her interest in him obvious, she thought, perhaps, he might reciprocate. Embarrassment ate at her, gnawing at her stomach. Of course he wouldn't. Why would she think for a second that he would? She had to be mad to even think it a possibility.

"Stupid Kore," she told herself, burrowing under the quilt.

Clever girl, he had said and she leaned close and thought, for just a moment, he might kiss her. And then he must have realized what she thought and immediately pulled away, immediately became distant. Rejection and embarrassment scalded her insides. He was too polite to humiliate her with words, so he had retreated.

She wanted her mother.

Persephone missed her then as she hadn't yet since she'd been gone. She wanted her mother to hold her, to tell her she would hide her away, that all men were stupid beasts. She wished, for the first time, she was like her mother, preferring women over men. Her emotional state was sure sorry that she didn't.

Another bout of nausea rolled over her and she rolled onto her back, staring up at the dim balls of light bouncing overhead. It made her think of the solarium, of those few brief seconds she saw the sky lit overhead. But she had made him angry with her own anger and ruined her chance to enjoy it.

Her humiliation had turned to anger with him. How could it not? It was as if he'd thrown a bucket of cold water over her head and broken the spell she had so dearly clung to.

She was his prisoner. No matter that he had extended a branch of friendship, she must not forget. And now that the daydream had been doused, that his actions had been clear he was not interested, she would act accordingly with him.

He was a king, after all. And she was a stupid, useless girl.

Outside, Hades paced within the center of the hedge maze, furious with himself. He had made her ill with his spiteful whisking her about. And though he had not struck her, though his touch upon her had been nothing more than gentle, he could not shake the feeling that he was no better than Ares.

He could not have her. He had retreated from her warmth to protect himself, to protect his throne, and had ruined what small semblance of friendship they'd pasted together. She was so ignorant to how the world worked, to how men worked. She would not have drawn so close, would not have looked up at him from beneath her perfect lashes had she known it made him want to kiss her. He could imagine her recoiling at the thought as heat burned his ears.