Page 128 of Where Darkness Bloomed
The Underworld had stripped away the mantle of innocence long draped over her shoulders. In its place, something deeper, truer, had crystallized.
Persephone.
She had become a queen, standing at the side of a god as powerful and fathomless as the kingdom he ruled.
From across the ages, Hades had seen her. And he had called forth her truest self.
In his realm, she had walked beside him as an equal. She had shared his burdens, watching the tides of war churn between mortals and gods. She had worn the mantle of his authority in a kingdom where she was neither daughter nor maiden. But queen.
And he had loved her.
Not with the flattery of a lover offering promises meant to charm or chain. His devotion had been stark, unadorned—pure. Fierce enough to outlast her fear, steady enough to wait until she saw him clearly.
In the words he spoke, in the commanding touch of his hands, in the unflinching way his russet eyes found and saw only her, he’d told her again and again—
She was his. And, in every measure, he was hers.
As the Fates had intended.
Now, torn from him, she was hollow—a silent rupture bleeding something vital from her. Diminished once more to the maiden of blossoms and rainfall.
At night, she lay awake, her fingertips tracing the gilded leaves of her silver crown. She clung to the memory of his hands, broad and warm, claiming with a strength that had only ever worshiped her. Of his voice, low and steady, wrapping around her like a vow. His eyes, dark and smoldering with promise, stripping every doubt from her.
She belonged with him. For eternity.
“Kore!”
Demeter’s distant call wrenched her from her thoughts.
Swallowing the resentment rising in her throat, Persephone moved toward her mother, each step dragging with silent rebellion.
A glimmer caught her eye.
A streak of silver tore across the sky, drawing her gaze up. It was a bright flash, plummeting toward the earth like a fallen star.
Beside her, Demeter’s lips flattened into a hard line, her sharp eyes tracking its descent.
A soft gust stirred the wheat. Then Hermes landed lightly before them, the wings of his sandals folding back as he straightened.
“Demeter.” He inclined his head with formal ease, though his gaze flicked briefly to Persephone. There was something in it, an apology perhaps. “Zeus summons the council.”
Demeter’s expression didn’t shift. “For what purpose?”
Hermes’s usual levity was gone, replaced by rare solemnity. “The Trojans have secured new allies. The Greeks have reinforced their ranks as well. More mortals rally to war, eager to fight beneath Achilles’s banner. Zeus fears their losses spiral beyond remedy.”
A chill feathered across Persephone’s skin. Her dream resurfaced—dark, heavy, ominous.
Demeter’s brow narrowed sternly. “This is not my concern. I will not attend.” She turned away, dismissing Hermes with a wave of her hand. “Come, Kore.”
Before Persephone could move, Hermes’s gaze shifted to her.
“The Underworld is drowning in souls.”
He spoke softly, his words stripped of his usual teasing cadence.
Persephone stiffened, her eyes locking to his. “What?” she whispered.
“Hades will petition Olympus to intervene,” Hermes continued, his eyes grave. “To protect the innocents of Troy.”
