Page 21 of Aïdes the Unseen
“Kore,” she said, and this time her voice cracked on the name, “Iknowthe difference between footsteps in the rain and footsteps in the dark.”
A pause.
I swallowed, and said the truth: “I didn’t mean to meet him.”
She flinched like I’d struck her. Demeter turned away, pressing her fingers to her temple as if trying to hold her shape. “The Underworld,” she whispered. “Even its breath on you—how could you let it touch you?”
I sighed. “He didn’t take. He only stayed.”
Demeter whirled back, eyes flashing gold. “That’s how it begins. With presence. With politeness. Then the silence grows around you until you forget what the sun felt like before you stepped into shadow.”
I stood my ground. “You think I’m still a seedling. I’m not.”
Her face twisted, sadness and fury tangled. “No. You’re a bud. And every bud is vulnerable. Heknowsthat.”
“Mother, he didn’t ask for anything.”
“That’s worse!” Her voice rose, thunder hiding just behind it. “You don’t understand how gods like him love. They don’t beg. Theywait. And you—” Her voice broke again. “You’remine, Kore. You are the bloom. The promise. You don’t belong underground.”
“Mother,” I said, voice low and steady, “I’m here and I didn’t feel buried. Not with him.”
She went still. A wind passed through the clearing, lifting the scent of lavender and wet bark. My mother didn’t speak. But I saw it—the storm rolling behind her eyes. Not rage.
Fear.
“I lost before,” she said, quieter than I’d ever heard her. “Not to death. But to time. To silence. Now I see the same silence in you.”
“I’m not gone,” I whispered. Why didn’t she hear me?
“But you’re not all here, either.”
I stepped forward. My hands stayed at my sides, but I met her gaze, unflinching. “Maybe I’m not meant to beonlyhere. You said I was spring. Springmoves. Itchanges. Itgoes.”
Her shoulders sagged. For the first time in my memory, Demeter—the great, golden mother—looked tired.
“I made this world soft for you,” she said. “I rooted joy into its bones, so you’d never have to ache the way I did.”
“But I do ache,” I replied. “Because you taught me to feel. Because you taught me to love the world, and now I loveallof it. Even the parts you fear.”
She looked at me as if finally seeing the shape of a woman where a child once stood. “I won’t forbid you,” she said at last.
I blinked. She wouldn’t?
“I should,” she added. “But I won’t. Because I see it now. You’ve already begun to reach toward him.”
I didn’t answer that. I couldn’t. Not… yet. Was she really not angry with me? She stepped close again, and this time, her hand did touch my cheek. Gentle. Steady. But there was grief in it. The emotion threatened to undo me.
“But promise me one thing,” she said.
“What?”
“If the shadows ever ask you to forget your name—don’t. No matter how warm they become. No matter how gentle the dark feels. You are Kore. You are the spring. You belong to me. You belong to yourself. You belonghere.”
I pressed my hand over hers. This I could do.
“I promise.”
Chapter
