by Nei Nguyen
From the earth’s dark embrace, they emerged into a world of blinding white. As far as the eyes could see, snow and ice draped upon the land, glistening under the grey sun and breathing chills into even the hearts of Gods.
Seldom did they leave their kingdom behind. Rarer was the Queen’s presence to grace the surface world in its wintry months. Perhaps it was to spare her heart, iron and steel as it was, of the devastation that was wrought in her absence.
A gentle hand on her husband’s wrist, slowing the chariot in its advance. Four black steeds trampled the snow, disturbing the stillness from which they ascended to. Elegant fingers gathered the pleats of her skirt, Persephone stepped down from Hades’ side.
She knew this meadow. She knew every tree, every bush, every sprig of grass that she and her nymph sisters danced by. She knew the lake, with its sweet water to cool their skin on a summer day. She knew wild patches of flowers, sprouting from the earth in abundance where her feet touched. If Persephone closed her eyes, she could hear bird songs filling the sky. She could hear faint skips of delicate hooves, a sudden splash of water, quiet flutterings and wayward laughters that made up the music of her youth.
But all was swallowed in stark white grief, silenced in a way that even the Underworld was less lonely.
Eyes that invoked the devotion and fear of those before them misted over. Persephone leaned against her husband’s stoic presence, ever her looming shadow.
“In her sorrow, she has turned the realm under her care into which she hates most.”
Hades didn’t answer, but followed as his wife tread forward. Persephone stopped when the toes of her winter boots touched frozen water. She kneeled, dark fur cloak spilled around her like a blooming, macabre flower.
No life could be coaxed out of the earth beneath. Demeter had cursed the land barren, to grieve and to die with her withered heart. And Persephone knew, not even the will of the Iron Queen could undo this devastation, lest she gave into her mother’s demands.
“Frail are the mortals, but so is a God’s pride.”
The snow shifted beside her. Persephone watched as Hades too kneeled, his long, pale fingers smoothed upon the ice. Where his skin touched, the surface was coaxed into transparency, like the truth that only death could offer. There, Persephone saw, in the murk of sand, mud and rocks, there was life. Slumbering catfish in their burrows, startling minnows lancing away from a lurking pike, and hovering asps in the far depths.
Hades rose, and with him, the ice clouded over, shrouding away precious flickers of life. He helped Persephone to her feet, and immaculately adjusted the collar of her cloak. As if Hestia herself had kindled a hearth between them, Persephone could feel life thrumming under the very soles of her feet.
Arid trees folded into themselves in hibernation, deep roots tangling in anticipation of Spring. Seeds lay dormant, kept warm and protected by Gaia, until Helios’ first warm ray chased away the frost. Creatures huddled in their dens, plump and peaceful, waiting for colours to burst upon their world once more.
With a joyous chortle, Persephone flung herself into Hades’ arms, impudent as if she was Kore once more. Her laughter didn’t cease, even as he stumbled and they slid onto ice. The faintest hint of a smile graced his steely thin lips, and she grasped his hands, spinning them both in abandon.
Life was beautiful, because it was temporal. And in the white waste Demeter cast upon the lands, there was death, but it was not the same eternity awaiting all in Persephone’s kingdom. Here, death also held the same temporal preciousness, a halting of time that was both terrifying and fascinating.
Here, they danced upon the cold white, finding joy upon the sorrow of one who cursed their union. The invitation to Olympus could wait, as the gilded columns and halls decorated lies could never bring the same gratification as the simple truth of their joined hands. What were the Muses’ songs to Persephone’s tinkling laughter? What were Zeus’ wandering eyes to the resolute gaze of Hades?
Her glee was endless, even when they tripped. Ever so protective, he slotted himself beneath her, cushioning her fall as peals of giggles still fluttered from her lips. She curled into his arms, her mirth muffled in the cool skin of his neck. There was no question of her improper manners, no disapproval scowl. Not even a slight admonishment, but a gentle hand threading through her tumbling tresses, patient as her amusement died down into a gracious smile.
“It seems we are late, dear one.”
He hummed, the sound as deep and rich as the earth. As his namesake. “My absence will not be missed, for I offer only truth, and truth is a dread that consumes the decadence of their egos.”
Persephone pouted, lips the colour of pomegranate.
“Must we go, then? If they detest you so and my departure will only bring more grief?”
Hades looked at her then, amusement flickering in endless obsidians.
“But wife, where is the fun in that?”
And she laughed again, above cruel winds and cruller Gods.
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