Chapter 2 - Kidnapped

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Persephone sat on her bed, biting her thumb fretfully. What was taking her mother so long, she wondered, surely nothing had gone awry? With a frustrated sigh, she closed the book she had been attempting to study and stood up, beginning to pace. Why had her mother insisted on going alone when they both knew how dangerous Mount Olympus could be? Was it not the very reason Persephone was forced to hide like a coward behind the walls of her mother’s temple? Her mother had not considered that Olympus could be as dangerous to her as it was to her daughter. They both knew Zeus had good reason to try to punish Demeter. Persephone could have gone with her, helped to ensure that they both left Zeus’ palace safely but instead she had had to stay behind, hidden, and once again completely useless. She could go there, she considered, and demand that she be allowed to see her mother. But, now that she thought about it, she realized that did not even know how to find the palace on Mount Olympus. She had been there as a child, but it had been years since her mother had brought her there. No, she just had to wait and hope that her mother was simply taking her time in returning.  “And in the meanwhile I am completely safe and completely unable to help anyone,” she muttered angrily under breath.

Persephone paused before a large looking glass in her room to study her reflection. It was a pretty face, beautiful even, she thought dispassionately, her eyes luminous in the gathering darkness. And she hated it. Her face had cost her everything, her freedom, her very way of life had been taken from her because men had decided her body was appealing. She sometimes wondered if being hidden away had made the matter worse, had made her appear even more appealing.The harder won prize was always more desirous, she thought in bitter disgust as she turned away from the mirror. With a sigh, she lay back on the bed. After her mother had departed, she had brushed the tangled hair of the horses, carefully braiding each tail and mane, scrubbed her face and her body so thoroughly her skin still felt raw, helped organize seeds for the nymphs to distribute to the newly tilled lands, and finally, she had tried to study to pass the time. But she still felt restless. The thought of Ares asking for her hand made her stomach twist, and since she had seen the note, a wild rebellion had seemed to rise up in her. Desperation, her mind whispered. Desperation coupled with fear and vulnerability, all combined to make her in a particularly foul mood.

The  thunder rumbled in the distance as if reflecting her dark emotions and there was a heaviness in the air. She watched from her bedroom window as the sky turned deep pink, and purple storm clouds rolled in. She could almost taste the rain. It had been as hot as Tartarus outside today, and it would be so nice to leave the temple, to smell the stormy air as it brought the fresh scent from the sea with it. She stood up then, only to sink back down with a frustrated sigh. She had promised her mother to stay inside and Demeter would be very upset with her if she didn’t.  But then again, if she did not leave her room soon she may well go insane. Persephone stood again slowly and went to the window, leaning out to let the wind blow through her room. It lifted the damp tendrils of hair from her sweaty face and she felt a beckoning, an almost irresistible pull to join the wilderness outside.

Persephone! a voice seemed to whisper on the wind...Persephone! She shook her head, how fanciful she had become lately. A reprieve from the temple was necessary for her sanity. She watched as golden pollen danced on the breeze, the eddy travelling away from the temple, and that shimmering golden powder helped to make up her mind. Without further thought, she quietly slipped out the door closing it firmly behind her. Her mother would never be the wiser.

As she stepped into the storm, she gasped at the first touch of the cool drops against her flushed body and closed her eyes, letting the rain soak into her skin, hoping it would wash her troubled contemplation away. The gold shimmer appeared again and she began to follow it, letting her feet take her without thought, further and further from the temple. The wind pulled at her hair and a part of her mind whispered to her that she was going too far, that it was unsafe, but she could not stop herself. The pull was too tantalizing and she had resisted the call of freedom for too long.

She walked, letting her bare feet sink into the cool, damp earth, always keeping the swirling gold dust in her sight. She passed the forests and the lakes and when she crossed the mountains that bordered the edge of the temple, she did not notice. Her eyes were fixated on the glimmering dust.

Finally, she paused as the wind shifted, momentarily altering the trail of gold from her gaze, and she blinked in surprise as she realized that she had reached a part of the forest that she had never seen before. Persephone had left the confines of the temple far behind and realized that she stood in the center of a large lavender field bordered by a cliff. It was breathtaking! The storm washed over the sea of purple and she breathed deeply. She thought about all that the storm had brought with it to the land: new seeds, scents, insects, precious water … to refresh and replenish the forest. The wind would scatter the seeds and life would begin anew. The air tugged at her dress impatiently, pulling at her hair and body and it felt almost as sensual as a lover’s hand, shaping her gown to her breasts and legs. She lifted her face and saw the stream of gold flowing towards the edge of the cliff and she edged closer to the precipice as the wind pulled with gentle insistence.  In the back of her mind she heard her mother’s warning, but she could not stop herself from following. The scent was intoxicating.

There was something hypnotic about this storm. Persephone felt that a little more time spent exploring would not hurt anything. The golden particles danced once more before her eyes and she turned to follow the path when she saw --  alone in a sea of lavender, a golden flower blooming, gleaming iridescently. She stopped to stare at it. A golden light emulated from it’s center reflecting off the petals so it glowed as brilliantly as the sun, a beacon in the darkened sky.

Its petals waved in the wild wind and the path of gold encircled the flower, inviting her to touch it. Had that golden trail led her here intentionally? Apprehension flashed in her mind, but she stepped helplessly closer, mesmerized by its brilliant glow.

She bent to the flower and as she touched the golden petals, she felt a curious swooping inside her body, like her soul was being heated from the inside out. Suddenly the world was immersed in inky blackness. She let out a gasp of shock and then stood still, as she felt something else there in the darkness, something that reached out to touch her.  It felt strong, powerful and ancient, and she was frightened of its nearness. It moved against her soul and she drew back, terrified at the unfamiliar touch. Her slightest movement seemed to act as a catalyst as the light returned as suddenly as it had gone, and a high-pitched noise split the wind sending chills down her back.

She covered her ears and fell to the ground as splintering screams filled the air and one loud cry rose to the forefront and echoed in her mind. Cries of the dying! Cries of the damned!

“No, no, no,” she moaned.

The ground shook with a pulse and seemed to shake with her own heartbeat as she struggled to stand, desperate to flee when a large crack rent the air and the Earth split open, oozing red liquid from its center. It spilled towards her and she realized in horror that it was blood, the sickening metallic smell filling her nostrils as it soaked into her bare feet. She gave a cry of horror as the Earth rolled and swelled and she fell again into the red pool, unable to keep her purchase on the unstable ground. She raised her eyes to the golden flower and watched as it withered and turned to dust when the blood swirled at its stem, and like an omen of death, the entire lavender field wilted and died before her eyes.

One last, single golden petal danced in the wind towards the gaping abyss, and as it reached the edge, thunder shook the sky as the petal drifted over. One heartbeat. Two. A hoof appeared. Persephone drew back in horror as a second hoof emerged, until finally an enormous ebony stallion burst through the depths of the blackness. On its back sat a cloaked rider. The creature who sat astride the monstrous beast  was covered in black, tattered robes and was headed straight towards her -- with deadly intent. She felt frozen, unable to move as the Earth pounded beneath her body. The horse’s red, rolling eyes stared into her own, the steam rushing from its flared nostrils, and she could feel the seething rage of the rider, a powerful anger directed at her.

“Get up, Persephone!” she whispered to herself.

She jumped suddenly to her feet, but the ground was wet beneath her. She felt herself slipping as she tried to gain her footing; the pounding hooves were right behind her now. She gave a cry of terror as a powerful arm wrapped around her and she was lifted onto the giant mount. She fought wildly against the tight hold and her struggles increased as she saw that the horse had changed directions and was heading once more toward the gaping crack in the Earth. The body against her own was hard and muscular, and despite how much she struggled, the grip on her did not loosen. She opened her mouth to scream when with one, impossibly long leap, the horse entered the crevice. The air whooshed out of her lungs and Persephone felt a peculiar weightlessness as they went further and further downwards. Another shattering noise filled her ears and  they were immersed in darkness as the Earth closed above them. She let out a helpless whimper of fear and the arm tightened around her.

“Do not let go, Persephone,” a deep voice whispered in her ear and she tried to turn back to glance at her captor but his fingers kept her face tucked into his chest.

Screams echoed in the darkness as the Earth seemed to fall apart around them, dust and rock hitting and tearing into her skin. The piercing cries intensified and suddenly she felt hands pulling at her. The smell of decay was overpowering and she could feel cold fingers reaching and grasping at her. She began to slip from the horse when a sudden burst of light blinded her and the fingers fell away. Down and down they fell,

the horse galloping swiftly and savagely through the ground and air. The dust was covering her face and she could not seem to catch her breath. They seemed to be falling through darkness, and she feared she would suffocate when suddenly, she realized they were standing still.

She opened her eyes slowly and saw that they were in a stone courtyard that was dimly lit by torches on the walls. The arm loosened slightly from her waist and she pushed herself from the horse and staggered to the ground, landing in a crouch. The rider stared down at her, his face still hooded, and then he jumped down landing quietly on his feet. She stood quickly and staggered back, staring at him with wide fearful eyes as he threw back his hood. He was tall; the paleness of his skin was enhanced by the  black hair that curled slightly around his face. There was a darkening beard around his firm jaw and his lips were full --  though curved currently in an unpleasant expression that hinted at cruelty. Her gaze darted up to his, and for a brief second a hint of purple flared around his irises, but then it was only black eyes that blazed into her own. She knew three things: He was a God. She had never seen him before. And he was furious.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“You are a child indeed if you do not know who I am. Are you not able to recognize the King of Death when you see him?” he answered impatiently.

She gasped and took another step back. “You are...you are Hades?”

He gave her a slight bow. “At your service.” He took a step closer to her, narrowing his eyes. “And now that we have completed introductions, I must ask you to remove this.” He jerked his robe down baring his chest, and she gasped. A golden arrow was embedded directly over his heart, and the wound was seeping dark red blood that oozed slowly onto his pale skin. Her eyes grew wide as recognition flared in her mind. By the Gods, that was an arrow of love! Persephone looked at him wildly, her mouth gaping open at him as she processed his words.

“I-- what? You wish me for me to remove this arrow? That is why you brought me here?”

He studied her, anger flickering again in his gaze. “It was you who shot it at me, was it not?”

She gasped in outrage, the shock of his words momentarily abating her fear. “It was most certainly not! I have never seen you before and I can assure you I am not in the habit of entrapping any God with love arrows. I do not know who did this to you, but it was not me.”

He regarded her for a moment as one dark brow arched, and then turned walking down the nearest dark tunnel. “Interesting,” he murmured, his voice echoing behind him as the horse followed docility behind him.

Persephone blinked. He was mad, she thought, completely mad. Was she truly in the Underworld? Hades was little spoken of on Olympus and she had heard he was unstable, a God to be feared. What could he want with her? She was a Goddess of minor importance. He was obviously as mad as everyone said. Her mother would come looking for her sooner or later, and the less she moved from this spot the easier it would be for Demeter to find her. But would she know how to find her, she wondered with a prickle of fear? The scorched field would be a clue and if anyone was able to figure out where she was it would be Demeter. What did this God mean by all of this, she thought angrily, bringing her down here and now leaving her! And what reason could he possibly have to suspect it was she who had shot that arrow at him? She would stay right here and wait for Demeter to find her. Unfortunately, her resolve was weakened as a painful moan echoed loudly in one of the adjacent chambers and she felt compelled to hurry after Hades, as he was rapidly moving away.

She was panting by the time she caught up with him, his dark robes billowing behind him like he was an angelic demon, and she raced in front of him to halt his relentless progression. They seemed to be heading down deeper into the Underworld and that was not the direction she wanted to go. She must resolve this, try to reason with this unreasonable God, and have him release her. She pushed her hair out of her face and regarded him.

“Why do you think it is I that shot this arrow at you? I can promise you it was not.”

He looked at her with fathomless black eyes and a slight curve of his mouth as he considered her, his head cocked to one side as though he found her acuriosity. “Every love arrow is inscribed with a name, did you know that?” She nodded. Her mother had told her this when she was but a babe, when she had still believed in love. “Why don’t  you read the name that is written on this one?”

“Oh, very well,” she muttered. She furrowed her brows leaning forward, getting close enough she could feel the heat radiating off of his skin.

Strange, she thought he would be cold, like marble or like death. Instead he felt… hot. She shook her head slightly and looking at the hilt of the arrow buried deep in his flesh she read: -ersephone.

“No,” she silently gasped.

“I assure you -- yes. The P is currently embedded in my person. As I am sure you are aware, only the name of the person inscribed on the arrow can remove it. Hence, why your presence is required.”

Persephone stood rooted to the ground, horror in every rigid line of her body. “This cannot be. There must be some mistake. Who would do this?”

“Cui bono. Who indeed?” It took her a moment to realize he had set off once again at a leisurely pace. She ran after him. Glancing around she realized the horse was gone. Where on Earth had it disappeared to so quickly? Her footsteps echoed eerily down the long hallways while his feet moved noiselessly over the ground.

“You - you must believe it was not I who did this. Why would I do such a thing to you? I have many suitors, I have no need to use a love arrow. You may ask my Mother if you like--”

“Why would I ask your mother when I can ask you?” He stopped and regarded her with cold black eyes. “You will not remove this arrow?”

“No! I will not!” To remove the arrow would be as good as to admit guilt to him and she crossed her arms firmly over her chest to emphasize her resolve.

“Very well,” he said and raising both hands he began to pull on the arrow.The muscles in his arms bulged as he attempted to try to pull it out of his flesh, and though his face remained stoic, fresh blood began to pour from the wound. The arrow remained firmly in place. She felt her own her heart contract in agony for him. She would not let a creature in the forest suffer like this, how could she treat this God as any less?

“Stop!” She laid her hands over his and she felt his hands tense under hers. “Stop,” she commanded softly again, wrapping both of her hands around his, around the arrow. “If it is indeed somehow my name on this arrow, I will help you. And then you will release me.”

He looked down at her, his blood dripping down both of their hands. “Then pull, Persephone, pull and do not stop until it is free.”

He placed his hands over her own, and as their eyes locked she thought she saw pleasure reflected in the dark depths of his gaze. She hesitated and then began to pull, looking only at the arrow and not the God who seemed to watch her with some strange triumph. For a moment nothing happened, and she felt hope soar in her heart that perhaps it had not been her name on this arrow. Then slowly, she felt the arrow begin to slip from his flesh. Fresh blood flooded over their hands and she loosened her grip.

“I’m hurting you!” she cried.

“No do not stop, pull harder. Do not stop until it is out.” His lips were close to her ears and she gave a shudder of revulsion at his nearness.

Furrowing her brows, she braced her feet against the ground and began to pull, ignoring the tearing of his skin, the ripping of muscle, the pounding of the heart which it had pierced, until the P appeared, until the very tip left his torn flesh and the arrow fell to the ground clanging at their feet. His hands tightened almost painfully over her own and a slow quiet laugh escaped from his lips.

She looked up in surprise, and it was as though a mask had been removed from his face. Small lights danced in his eyes as he stared at her, and the wild look in his gaze caused the fine hairs on her neck to rise. He looked untamed and dangerous. He looked like the King of Death and there was possession in his eyes as he stared at her. Panic filled her mind and she tried to step away from him. For a moment she was afraid he would not release her, but suddenly he allowed her hands to drop from his bare chest -- hands that were covered with his blood. She snuck a look at him again, but his face was free from any expression and she wondered if she had imagined the madness in his eyes. She hesitated and then lifted her gown, still damp with the blood from the scorched field, and pressed it tightly to his wound, new blood darkening the fabric. He pushed her away gently, his face paler than before if possible, his breath coming in quick gasps.

“That is unnecessary.” He bent down to retrieve the arrow as blood continued to seep from the gaping hole in his chest, and then inexplicably continued his downward descent.  She watched as the trail of blood from his chest left small, dark pools on the stones below them and then she hurried after him.

“Wait!” she desperately cried. “I did what you asked. Now, let me return to my Mother. She will be missing me!” She strained her ears--  was that water she heard ahead?

“Oh no, Persephone, that was never part of the bargain,” he replied, not breaking his stride, not even doing the courtesy to glance at her.

“We made a bargain,” she appealed to him, outraged. “I helped you and now I demand that you return me to my temple!”

He suddenly stopped and quickly turned to her. “You do not know all there is to know about a love arrow if you do not understand why you cannot leave this place. Why you will never leave this place.” When she shook her head, he grasped her by the arms. “Love is a poison that drives even Gods mad. If you leave, I will find you, and I will bring you back. Even now the poison from the arrow is spreading through my veins and will slowly drive me to madness. In time, without your love, I will become deranged. I, the God of Death will wreak havoc upon the land. I want this no more than you! But someone took away my choice.”

Persephone’s hands trembled. “I will not stay here.”

“I tire of this. Come,” he demanded. Keeping a firm grasp on her arm, he dragged her forward down the dark chamber and bellowed, “Charon!” They came suddenly to an opening and a dark river moved swiftly ahead. A small boat sat near the shore with a man huddled at one end, a staff leaning against him. “Is it ready?” Hades asked. The old man nodded and Hades walked over to him handing him the arrow. “Here, keep this for now.” Charon reached out to claim it, and then before she could blink, he had resumed his previous position, huddled over in his seat as the boat rocked gently in the murky water below.

Hades caught her watching the river guide. “Do not mind Charon,” he said, “he is no longer used to the living.” While he spoke, he began to gently tug her towards a darkened anteroom. The room was lit with only a few candles, there was a marble white altar, plush rugs lined the walls and the rich scent of frankincense perfumed the air. As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she made out a lone figure standing at the head of an altar, a glow emanating from his skin. A God, she thought with trepidation. Another God, she corrected herself. Maybe she could ask for his help.

“What is this?” she asked, noticing the cups he held in both hands. She dragged her feet against the ground as fear settled into her heart.  “Who is that person?” Hades watched her silently, his dark eyes burning with hellfire as he met her gaze.

“Hymenaeus, son of Apollo, has kindly agreed to facilitate the wedding vows.” The God stared back at them with a nod of his pale, silvery head.

“I owe Hades a debt. It is a pleasure to finally meet the lovely Persephone.”

Persephone looked wordlessly at him and then shook her head. “What are you talking about? What wedding?”

Hades moved them closer to the altar. “I understand that Ares was asking Zeus for your hand in marriage. You will trade one husband for another, I can assure you I will be no worse a husband than he, and probably a great deal easier to live with.”

Persephone glanced wildly around the room and noticed Charon had moved from his ghostly boat to accompany them, to bear witness to this farce. Her whole body began to shake with violent denial and her mouth twisted with rage. “You must be mad if you think I would consent to be your bride! I will not live my life in such a tomb! I will not marry you, I will not!” She ran quickly to the door and Hades lifted his arm, drawing her to him as if an invisible chain had pulled her backward. His face hardened as he looked down at her.

"No," he said, "you are not leaving." He firmly grabbed her arm. “Ares will not be the one calling you his wife tonight. Hymenaeus, bring forth the goblets.”

Persephone watched as Hymenaeus reluctantly stepped forward and she released a violent cry. She fought and clawed like a wild beast, drawing blood from both the Gods as they tried to approach her. Fear wrapped around her heart as tightly as vines. Hades swore a savage curse and wrapped his arms around her even as she clawed him, his hands holding her face up towards the God of Matrimony.

“You make this needlessly difficult, Persephone,” he whispered in her ear. “There is no escape for you. Stop this now!” She could feel the tears coursing down her face as she panted in helpless rage and Hymenaeus eyed her warily as he tried to approach her again.

“Perhaps if she is not willing, Hades,” Hymenaeus began, “you could delay your nuptials.”

“Continue,” Hades snarled at him. As Hymenaeus lifted the cup, Hades made a vow, “This is the water of the Styx, the river of unbreakable oath. By drinking from this cup, you vow that you will be my wife.” She began to thrash her head back and forth, biting her lips closed and Hades held her more firmly. He pinched her nose and she held her breath as long as possible, but eventually was forced to gasp open to breathe and Hymenaeus poured the contents of the goblet down her throat. The black putrid water burned her throat and she spit the drink out into Hades’ face. Without expression, he bent forward and sipped the remaining water from her lips. She bit his mouth hard and watched with satisfaction as dark blood oozed against his pale skin. With a cruel smile, he grabbed the cup from Hymenaeus and gripped her arm like a vice, forcing the evil draught once more down her throat.  He held her jaws firmly shut until she choked the dark murky water down, gagging like the most wretched of animals. There was no option to refuse the marriage. Sobs of anguish rang from her lips through the chamber of the secret ceremony as she collapsed to her knees in defeat.

Hades refilled the goblet and drank from it deeply as Hymenaeus began to recite the unbreakable vows. He picked up her limp body, forcing her to stand, and she kept her eyes tightly closed. She imagined the softest touch against her mouth and a whisper so quietly in her ear she was not sure if was real.

“I’m sorry little flower. In time you will come to realize why this has to be.”

When she opened her eyes, he was placing a golden ring on her finger, “Say you will be my wife. She shook her head back and forth, her long chestnut hair whipping her in the face. Grabbing tightly to her arms, he pulled her fully to her feet.

“Say it!” he bellowed.

Persephone looked into his furious face and an icy calmness settled into her bones, a sense of finality. Her face was pale and ravaged by her tears, but she stared back at him boldly with hatred filling her beautiful eyes. Had she been paying

closer attention she would have noticed his slight flinch. However, she only saw his fingers digging tightly into her arms and the ring he had forced onto her slim finger. She stepped back from his embrace and he let his arms fall. “I am--.”

Merciless eyes burned back at her, his low, dead voice echoing once more, “Say it.”

“Your wife,” she whispered.

Hades swung his dark cape around her and pulled the hood over her face.

“We must cover your sweet face lest someone mistake your tears for anything other than joy,” he murmured as he pulled the cloak tighter around her. With that, he lifted her up and quickly carried her through a long hall and into a private section of the castle. Too tired to fight at the moment, Persephone watched listlessly as he took her down another long hallway, kicking open two large doors that led into a bedroom. She looked around briefly to take in the large four post bed made of emerald, a tree barren of leaves hung upside down from the ceiling. Crystals were dangling from each tree branch, swaying two and fro, creating a sound similar to that of wind chimes.The light of the fireplace bounced off each stone, scattering tiny fragments of light onto the ceiling and floor. The room was opulent, mystifying and strange. Hades suddenly bent and laid her on the satin bed. She scurried off quickly and pressed herself to the far side of the wall staring back at him with a searching, frightened gaze. A faint smile curled his lips as he went deliberately to the bed and sat, sprawling out his long legs.

“A comfortable bed, is it not?” He ran his hand over the green stone and a wicked smile crossed his face, “Emerald encourages romantic bliss.” He gave a small sigh as he looked at her huddled in the corner. “This is your room my Queen. Mine is across the hall."

Relief washed over her. “You...you do not want a wedding night?”

Embers burned in his black eyes, “I do.” His gaze swept over her body with frankly sexual appraisal and she stiffened, pulling his cape tighter around her, preparing to do whatever necessary to keep him from touching her. She shivered, her dress cold from the blood that had stained it.  “I forced you onto my horse and into the Underworld, I forced you to stand and drink from the wedding cup, and to put the ring on your finger and say yes at the ceremony.” He stood from the bed and approached her lazily, reaching one hand to play with a lock of her hair that curled against her neck. He watched her expression carefully. His other hand moved to the strap of her dress which had slipped off her pale, sloping shoulder. He felt her gasp as he took the strap in his hand, fondling it. “And you are a beautiful Queen, any man would want you.” He took the strap and snapped it back onto her shoulder. “But I think I have forced you enough for one day, my unwilling bride. “Besides,” he said turning away from her, “I throw men into Tartarus for what you suspect I would do next.”

Oh what a wicked man he was, she thought. As she stared at his broad back she felt her impotence and how much she hated him!

“Let me go home then,” she said in a low voice.

He looked at his bride who was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld. The wild dark hair framing her face like a halo. Her delicate hands clung tightly to his cape as she pulled it closely around her body, framing her delicious curves. She would not cling so tightly if she knew, he thought with a smile. And her eyes, green as only springtime could be, stared into his, as though she was trying to appeal to his very soul. Foolish girl, she did not know that there was nothing left of his soul. He could see her dress from that day under the cape. The simple toga she’d worn in the fields would forever be imprinted in his mind, her wedding dress, a reminder of the cursed day she forever became tied to him. The dress was stained copper with blood, his blood and the blood of others. Stained like his soul.

He breathed deeply trying to calm his rapidly beating heart and inhaled her scent. She smelt like flowers and sunshine, like freshness and hope, and it was intoxicating to him. He was drawn to her as surely as a flower wept for the warmth of the sun, and he felt desire fill his body. He turned away quickly and closed his eyes for a moment; she would never be allowed to go home. Never be free in her forest. This was his gift to this precious creature, that she was doomed to spend eternity in Hell.

With his back to her he replied, “What poor choices you were given, little one. A God who sends men to their grave, or the God of Death himself.” He turned to face her, the bed between them. "Goodnight, my beautiful wife. Try to sleep. Stay in your room tonight. I mean it, Persephone.” She blinked at his words, which ironically echoed her mother’s from this very morning. “There is no reason we must see each other more than we have to, and if you abide by my rules you will have a comfortable life. It would not do to wander far in the land of the dead. For your own sake, do not defy me.” With a bow, he swept from the room and she was left alone.