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Change of Seasons, Post #8
Mar. 21st, 2018 12:22 pmLet us not speak of the weeks past.
(Except I heart Bermuda.)
Anyway, so I guess it's Spring now, what with the equinox and all, and I was thinking about poor Hades and how he must dread spring and summer. (Yes, I ship Hades/Persephone.) So, below, a triple-drabble:
Every year Hades starts brooding somewhere around mid-February, and Persephone will tell you that no one broods like the Lord of the Underworld. It's hoarfrost and frowns, it's cold to the bones.
She doesn't complain, though.
She knows he hates when she's gone. He doesn't say it in words, but his shadow in the lamplit halls of their home lengthens and twists like a cape when they walk together. She looks back to see that shadow caressing hers, and she feels a kiss on her exposed nape, feels loved and enfolded. But he never looks back.
("That bloody Orpheus did it to himself," he once said to her, acknowledging others' loss, others' stories. "Just don't look back! It's a rule!")
In the weeks before she leaves, he makes her drinks, dark and sweet and rich, that warm her like the absent sun. He sits with her for hours on the banks of the Styx, their fingers entwined as if the strongest tendrils of the hardiest vines, those that thrive through winter. He lays his lips against her temple and breathes love and death against skin, into blood.
She drinks his gifts. She holds on to him. She absorbs love, reserves death.
The day the season changes, he walks her to the river. Mother is watching and waiting on the other side, but Persephone kisses him nevertheless, kisses him for six months' worth of longing. "I'll be back, husband," she whispers, and then sets foot on the ferry. Cerberus barks once, like a full-throated laugh. Hades is silent. She feels a shadow's kiss on her nape, and she smiles.
As Persephone goes over the dark water, she lays her fingers on her lips and thinks of him, of gifts and kisses and death. But she doesn't look back. It's a rule.
.......................
Happy spring!
(Except I heart Bermuda.)
Anyway, so I guess it's Spring now, what with the equinox and all, and I was thinking about poor Hades and how he must dread spring and summer. (Yes, I ship Hades/Persephone.) So, below, a triple-drabble:
Every year Hades starts brooding somewhere around mid-February, and Persephone will tell you that no one broods like the Lord of the Underworld. It's hoarfrost and frowns, it's cold to the bones.
She doesn't complain, though.
She knows he hates when she's gone. He doesn't say it in words, but his shadow in the lamplit halls of their home lengthens and twists like a cape when they walk together. She looks back to see that shadow caressing hers, and she feels a kiss on her exposed nape, feels loved and enfolded. But he never looks back.
("That bloody Orpheus did it to himself," he once said to her, acknowledging others' loss, others' stories. "Just don't look back! It's a rule!")
In the weeks before she leaves, he makes her drinks, dark and sweet and rich, that warm her like the absent sun. He sits with her for hours on the banks of the Styx, their fingers entwined as if the strongest tendrils of the hardiest vines, those that thrive through winter. He lays his lips against her temple and breathes love and death against skin, into blood.
She drinks his gifts. She holds on to him. She absorbs love, reserves death.
The day the season changes, he walks her to the river. Mother is watching and waiting on the other side, but Persephone kisses him nevertheless, kisses him for six months' worth of longing. "I'll be back, husband," she whispers, and then sets foot on the ferry. Cerberus barks once, like a full-throated laugh. Hades is silent. She feels a shadow's kiss on her nape, and she smiles.
As Persephone goes over the dark water, she lays her fingers on her lips and thinks of him, of gifts and kisses and death. But she doesn't look back. It's a rule.
.......................
Happy spring!
