Page 22 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Kore bit down on a sigh. It was no secret, the old acrimony lingering between her mother and her father, Zeus. It was the reason Demeter kept to the earth, away from the shining halls of Olympus. Not pride, but memory. Deep-seated bitterness bleeding from a wound that had never closed.
She glanced sidelong at her mother. “Perhaps it is not so with all gods,” she said slowly. “Hebe seemed joyful at her wedding feast.”
Her mother’s expression darkened instantly. “Of course she did.” Her voice was harsh, thick with ancient anger. “Paraded before the pantheon. Handed over to Heracles like chattel, a prize to satisfy his lust—”
She stopped abruptly, lips pressing together. Her eyes flicked warily toward Kore. Then—“I would not have you suffer the same fate.”
As the words settled between them, Kore’s footsteps slowed, then stopped. “Which fate?”
Demeter slowed as well, turning to face her. “Many goddesses have chosen a different path, swearing themselves to maidenhood.” Her words were too light, too careful. “Artemis. Athena. Hestia. They are wise, powerful, free from the burdens of marriage, of gods and men. I would see you join their ranks.”
Kore stared at her. “You wish me to forgo marriage?”
“Yes.” Demeter’s face was serene, composed. “I never married, and I am content.”
“But you had a child.”
The reply was sharper than before, and Demeter stiffened, her shoulders squaring.
“I would spare you the fate that so many come to know. To invite the attention of men, of gods, it is to invite ruin and despair. Betrayal that can never be undone.” Her eyes mirrored the flinty resolve in her voice. “You are of age now. It is my wish that you take the vow of maidenhood.”
Her words rang with the finality of a decree, spoken like a sentence already passed.
For a long moment, Kore could only stare at her mother.
The vow of maidenhood was binding. Eternal and unbreakable. For all the ages, she would be Kore, Demeter’s daughter. Nothing more. Therewould be no life beyond Eleusis, its wildflowers and fields. Beyond spring rains and her mother’s temple.
Beneath her shock, a hot tide began to swell. Anger rose swiftly, and with it, understanding slid swiftly into place. Demeter’s contempt for Olympus. Her brittle silence around Zeus. The self-imposed exile from among the gods. And then—
Her name.
Kore.
Maiden.
Something wrenched in her chest.
“How long have you desired this?” she demanded, trembling.
Demeter remained silent. But it was a damning silence, confirmation of a path determined long ago.
“You have always called me Kore,” she continued, the words gaining force. “Never my title. Never Perseph—”
“Stop.”
The order split the air. Summer’s warmth vanished, the stillness turning cold around them. Even the insects fell silent.
Demeter’s eyes had gone dark. “Do not speak it,” she commanded, her voice low and tight.
Startled, Kore stared at her. “Why?” she demanded. “It is my name. My title.”
A moment of silence ticked by.
Then, stepping forward, Demeter grasped her shoulders with firm hands. “You are Kore,” she said, the words clipped. “Thatis who you are. That is all you need to be.”
She spoke with infuriating certainty, offering no explanation. A steadfast decree that ended the conversation like a door slamming shut.
Demeter’s shoulders were still stiff as she turned away, continuing down the path. “Come, it is late,” she called over her shoulder.
