Persephone and Hades

III

He felt chained to his throne, a prisoner of the Underworld, forced to remain in the darkness and the dankness where souls came and went, screaming and crying and begging. Their wails were tiresome and their words irritated him. He wanted nothing more than to find his way back to the land of the living, to that golden field mottled with pink and red and blue flowers, to the girl who dripped flower petals from her veins.

Hades paced in front of his throne, filled with anxiety and anticipation — would she write back? Was there even a way for her letters to reach him? Hidden behind and under and beneath, so deep within the earth, sunken within the dirt and bones and rotting things that constituted his realm, he felt isolated and alienated, forced to be kept from the one thing that was guaranteed to bring a ray of light into his life.

A chime echoed in the chamber as if someone had rung a bell — he looked around until his eyes fell on a small green growth beside his throne. It curled out from within a crack in two stones, and a delicate pink blossom opened to reveal a piece of parchment, rolled tightly and tied with a strand of lavender ribbon. He lifted the paper from the bloom and was glad to see that it remained beside him as he sat in his throne.

'Sweet Man,

I am grateful for the gift you have given me. And I have made sure to keep your key safe, it is carried with me at all times, as are your letters. I am not sure how time passes for you, where you are, but up here it has been days since I found the box and the key. I have not heard from you — have I angered you or disappointed you in some way?

I have never been courted, and because of this I must ask for your forgiveness if I cross any lines. You are courting me, correct? I don't see how it could ever be anything else, for why would you give me such a lovely necklace and pendant were you not trying to woo me.

I wish to meet you, but I find that waiting for Harvest is agonizing. I look forward to your next letter, and I hope that this correspondence finds you well.

-- Persephone'

He read it dozens of times until he had every word memorized. He slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne and cursed his brother for drawing the better of the three lands to rule over. How could anyone justify denying someone the simple pleasure of a warm breeze, the smell of a crocus in the afternoon sun, or the lips of a fair maiden?

'Acheron!' Hades called, his voice ringing and echoing through the halls. It was carried to the banks of the river that bordered the palace where it hit the ears of a white haired man in grey robes. He was not old, nor was he young — he was ageless but beyond age itself. In a brief moment of adolescent irritation he rolled his eyes, resigning himself to accept the summons. He sank into his shadow and followed the stream-like path of smoke that drew him to the throne room. Appearing before Hades, he removed the hood of his cloak and bowed.

'How may I assist you?' His voice was cold like hundreds of icicles piercing living flesh. Though it had been weeks since he had touched Persephone's cheek and had stolen away some of her warmth, Hades felt the pain in his heart. Acheron held a unique ability to bring pain to those around him with simple words — his voice was a dagger and though he barely spoke, he was feared in both the Underworld and the Overworld.

'I must return to the Overworld. I wish to call in a favour owed to me.' Hades spoke. Acheron did not hide his displeasure as he again rolled his eyes.

'My lord, I am sorry, but you have exhausted your allotment for trips to the Overworld. You must wait for the Harvest time.'

Hades slammed his fists into the arms of his throne and stood, throwing off the hooded cloak he had been wearing, revealing the golden crown of thorns and bones and spikes that adorned his head.

'I am a God! I am Lord of the Underworld! I am not a lowly peon, nor am I at the whim and mercy of any god on Olympus!' His voice thundered in the chamber, rattled the chandeliers and the walls and the crumbling stone floor. Acheron bowed deeply in supplication, not wishing to anger the god any more than he already had.

'Of course, my lord. Please, accept this as a token of my apologies.' Acheron reached into his cloak and removed a key. He placed it in the dark gods hand and turned to leave, but not before he noticed the pink blossom poking through the crack in the stones next to the throne. With a shake of his head, Acheron showed himself to the door of the throne room and removed himself from Hades' presence.

He gripped the key and felt a wave of joy rush over his shoulders, causing him to shiver and shake and forced him to acknowledge that there was an underlying anxiety of returning to the Overworld, of seeing her face under the warm sun. His mind ran through so many questions as he turned the key over and over and over in the palm of his hand.

Without further procrastinating, Hades shoved the key into his pocket and removed the hooded cloak from his shoulders. He placed the golden crown of thorns and bones and spikes on the arm of his throne and he donned a simple black shirt to covered the scars and cuts and burns that mottled his pale skin. He turned away from the main entry and looked toward a smaller, less ornate archway — with a wave of his hand, Hades engaged the portal; a small lock appeared in the centre of a blue and violet and silver vortex, into which he inserted the key. The archway buzzed and hummed with power as the key unlocked the gateway and he stepped through.