❛THEY WOULD TELL YOU OF A KING WHO STOLE ME HELPLESS FROM MY SUNSHINE GARDEN.❜
They won't tell you about the woman who came to him sublime, lily eyes and lily lips. A king does not ask permission from his prize, but she, oh she, she knelt, kissing m...
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PERSEPHONE'S CHAMBERS, THE UNDERWORLD.
PERSEPHONE
THEY WOKE ME IN THE EARLY MORNING WHEN THE WICKED MOON STILL HUNG IN THE HEAVENS, SPILLING ITS GLORIOUS LIGHT OVER THE VEINED MARBLE.
My dreams had been dark and distant, burying me in cemeteries of sheer terror, lingering throughout the night. I couldn’t do this - I needed to go home - to warmth and peace, to the welcome heat, to Mother-
-to her? Back to her, so that she can make you gather more crocus? Back to that damp earth, so that she can make you tend to her pretty, pretty soil? Back to those damned meadows and that cruel river, where she barely let you have a swim on your own terms?
Back to imprisonment in that wicked little cave of hers, Persephone? Is that where you wish to go? His words taunted me even in my nightmares, mocking me with hard bitterness.
A group of delicate nymphs and ethereal deities had already busied themselves around the ornate living quarters, moving with seamless grace and fluid movements, every action like the soft flow of a youthful river.
The room was plush and luxurious, I realised. Different from where I had woken yesterday. Some kind person had moved me to this chamber, this chamber fit for a royal. The walls were the deepest shade of an enticing red, accented by heavily lined tapestries. Wherever my gaze lingered, I caught the sparkling flash of precious crystal.
“Drink this, child,” a kindly looking female thrust an exquisite goblet into my poor hands, steam wafting from it.
“What is-"
“-spiced wine. It will help,” she gently cooed, words softer than sunlight on a dove’s wing as her callused hands pressed the bejewelled cup into my innocent palms.
“Help - help with what?” my words trailed off into the crisp, cold night, shaking with unknown chills as panic drizzled over my spine.
“Nothing to worry about, my dear,” the ladies sang to me, their beckoning words and calming touches enticing me to the other side of the chamber. I wanted to resist - oh, yes - I wanted to, but their voices were like melodic lullabies, softened in the ethereal glow of the dark, silver morning.
The glassy waters of the rose scented pool were swirling in eddies of sea green.
Such lovely, lovely waters, fresher and more tender than the spring rivers in the winter gardens.
Mother would never have let me in.
Would never have let me wake up before the sun rose from its golden slumber. Would never have let me have an entire cup of wine and roasted spices. Would never have let me jump into the freezing glacial waters in the young streams over the hills.
