III

CHAPTER THREE

THE MENACING STRANGER // THE CHARMING GALLANT

"Mother's here to protect you forever"

Persephone kept staring at nowhere in particular as the words replayed over and over in her mind. They had barely allowed her to sleep a wink that night, the menacing promise woven into the seemingly innocent words terrified Persephone far more than she would ever admit.

The dreadful thought of spending eternity under her mother's asphyxiating hold made her sick. She had entertained the thought of escaping many times before, but like many times before she realised how stupid of a plan it sounded. Persephone glanced around the strangely quiet meadow and allowed her unusually lousy mind to drift back to the previous night and the unpleasant dinner with Ares. For the first time since his departure, she allowed herself to express any kind of disgust on her face, her lips curling in a venomous moue. Being forced to go through all the nuisance of sitting idly while her beauty was worshipped did not amuse Persephone in the slightest. It only served the purpose of feeding her impending pique.

The sun glided across the bright, clear sky, the passing of hours doing nothing to divide Persephone's resolution. She knew not what to do, but she was most certain of the verity of the harshness to the feelings she harboured inside her chest for her dear mother.

Persephone stood up from her kneeling position in the middle of the lea. She closed her eyes and moved her hand before her face, the soft touch of flowers against the skin of her calves eliciting the smallest of sighs from her. Just like the many days before, she wished for her rage to manifest in a downpour on the spiteful meadow, yet she could not bring herself to concentrate on the dark heavy clouds.

The sound of her sigh, although small, managed to catch the attention of a faraway spectator. The tall, looming silhouette of a shadow on the field stood motionless, observing through hooded eyes at the young Persephone.

Persephone opened her eyes and turned around swiftly. The soft summer breeze pushed her light tendrils into her face, veiling her view from the distant figure. That's when she noticed it. The flower. Unlike her roses, it was not fierce, but delicate. Yet it caught her attention as one of the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen before. A white narcissus dipped in gold in the very centre. She approached the flower, not being able to shake away the compelling curiosity that flourished inside her. Upon closer inspection, Persephone realised there was nothing extraordinary about the flower. It was a plain narcissus, much like all the others she had seen before, a reminder of what vanity really was: a weakness.

As she extended her hand to run her fingers across the soft, white petals, something struck her as odd about the whole situation. She had never seen a narcissus in this part her mother's field, although narcissi would sprout beautifully in the drained soil of the lea, under the shiny blessing of Helios. The flower felt different.

Not grown by her own hand, not grown by her mother's hand. But put there.

The faraway shadow smiled to itself, it lifted its hands and removed the smooth helmet from its head, his guise disappeared immediately and he became visible to the eye.

Suddenly, she jerked up and straightened her back, noticing for the first time the dark, distant figure ahead. Both stood motionless, each barely a blurry smear to the eyes of the other.

She took a daring step forward, keeping her gaze fixed on the faraway stranger. The thought of her mother gaining knowledge of the presence of a stranger here in her meadow thrilled her. To see the anger in her eyes, she craved it. And yet she feared it. But her interest had been spiked, and Persephone could not bring herself to care much for the consequences of her following actions. There had never been anyone else in the meadow but her mother and herself. Some times, Demeter would allow some nymphs to stroll around, but never for long, and they were all strictly told not to interact with the young goddess.

Step by step, the figure became clearer. A man, much taller than she had originally perceived, stood now an arm's length from her.

Without the distance separating them, Persephone could now take a better glance at him. A shudder ran down her spine as she noticed for the first time the patch of land that surrounded him. They were dead. Everything had withered, all the flowers and grass near him had decayed.

Who was this man?

This man was no mortal, Persephone knew that much. He could not be.

Never had she witnessed so much death in her mother's meadow. Never had her eyes observed any dead blossoms that had not been murdered by her own hand. She could not help the smile that tugged at her lips at the thought of her mother's face.

"Who are you?"

The question lingered. The man stood unfazed. His face was devastatingly handsome and pale, lacking Helio's golden kiss. His expression was dark and sombre, and unlike all the other gods Persephone had paraded for, the man before her brimmed her with curiosity. Unlike Ares, the features of his face seemed sculpted carefully and with measure, every curve and angle connecting smoothly with the next. At the sight of the man, her body was enveloped by a warmness that was unknown to her.

The man before her could not be described as anything but gloom. Dark, yet beautiful.

For the first time in a very long time, no ill-willed thoughts came to her mind as she took in the vision before her. She could not find it in herself to despise his appearance or his silence. She could only feel intrigued.

"Who are you, goddess?" The man's face barely moved as he pronounced each word delicately. The words had not been uttered as a question, but a demand. He demanded her to present herself, and Persephone had never felt more obligated to comply with any demand ever made to her.

"I am Persephone, daughter of the great Zeus and the goddess Demeter." She said haughtily, holding her chin high, her head tilted in that prepotent angle that showcased her immortality, her superiority. The mention of her mother's name left a sour taste in Persephone's mouth. Her lips curling in hatred for a fleeting second. "And you have not answered my question," Her eyes found his, a deep shade of blue, the darkest she had ever seen. She had never been alone with another god for so long, her mother had made sure of it. And she was sure this man was a god, for he could be nothing but. This was new to her. This was a taste of the freedom she desperately ached for.

"Persephone," the man repeated, seemingly tasting the words, her name rolling smoothly off his tongue like a sip of ambrosia and nectar. She quivered. "I am afraid we have not met before, daughter of Zeus. Would you run away if you knew who I was?" He stated simply. The look on his face matched the dark and gloomy appearance of the dead flowers surrounding him. Dead.

There were many things Persephone would run away from, but never from him.

"Why would I? You do not seem particularly threatening." She said, her eyes narrowed with defiance as she searched his face for any hint of emotion. Persephone noticed how the corners of his mouth twisted slightly with apparent mirth. She did not plan on amusing him with her words, if anything, she had expected the stranger to disregard her under the assumption that she was disrespectful.

"Very well, goddess. You seem terribly devoted to expressing your opinion freely, something not particularly well seen among my brothers."

What a joy that she had no interest in pursuing any type of conversation with his brothers, whoever they were.

"You are avoiding my question. And I have no reason to lie to you, so tell me stranger, is my devotion not well seen in your eyes?" She was challenging him, and by the glint on his midnight blue eyes, she could tell he was enjoying it.

Persephone noticed their shadows shifting across the meadow, her mother would be back anytime, and she was not fond of the idea of Demeter walking in her conversation with the stranger. However, if she had to spend an eternity trapped in her mother's clutches, she would not dismiss so easily her encounter with the fascinating man she was speaking to.

"On the contrary, I find it quite enchanting." He looked at her through his lashes as he spoke the words, "It is not often that one comes across such a heavenly creature with the ability to bewitch a man single-handedly with her words." He was most definitely silver-tongued, but it did not sweep Persephone off her senses. She had come across a wide variety of graceful speakers in the past, pretty words did not have the swaying effect they once did on a younger version of herself.

"I am pleased to hear that, my lord. But I feel it is my obligation to tell you that your flattering words have not changed my opinion about yourself. I am not one to be charmed by the fluency of words." There was a tingling sensation on her chest she could not pin down to anything she had ever experienced before.

"I would have found myself disappointed if that was the case, but pray tell me, fair Persephone, what is your judgement of me?" There was a hint of a smirk on his lips.

She beamed at the stranger with a lopsided smile, cocking her head to the side, carefully assessing his eyes with her own. She allowed her eyes to wander around the view. From his inky, dark hair, to the curved edge of his jaw. Persephone examined the ground around him once more, her heart aching for the dead plants. She regarded the man before her with certain uncertainty, for the fluttering in her chest and the tingling in her fingertips was something she had not felt in a long time, not since she was first exposed to the vicious gods of Olympus, with their golden skin and wicked mouths ready to pounce at her as if she were a piece of meat, lusting after the ichor running through her veins.

She could see none of it in him. He lacked the bloodlust in their eyes, the arrogance in their stance, the malice in their words and the thorns adorning their smiles, ready to punctuate her with their kiss, their tongues like daggers, lapping at the molten gold flowing from her wounds.

"You are not like the others, and that is enough to make you pleasant enough in my eyes. Perhaps I could do any better with a name." She was aware of how he had subtly distracted the conversation from his identity. The art of subtleness was something she herself was terribly familiar with. He narrowed his eyes at Persephone, who had her lips curled in a cruel smile.

"You say I'm not like the others, goddess. How can you be so sure of that? I am a god after all, are we not all alike?" Sudden darkness clouded his blue eyes. A darkness that would have scared Persephone, had she not been through all the misery she had. In another life, it would have caused her to regret her inquiry. But she was not about to back away now. And she was not the innocent girl she had once been. She craved it, with a need she didn't know she was capable of. To drink every ounce of the darkness pouring from him, to bite the forbidden fruit. "Look around," he made a display with his hands, head slightly bowed. Persephone could only see death."What do you see, goddess?"

"Death." Her words were final. She glanced at him once again. She had imagined Thanatos to look more...hideous. She had not expected death to look attractive at all. But he was a god after all, and all gods were cursed with repugnant beauty. His statement irked her, but it only served as a confirmation of what she already knew. That he was different from all the other gods. Or was he really? Had her arrogance finally clouded her judgement? She was an Olympian after all, prone to the flaws of her father and mother, uncles and sisters.

The stranger simpered, tilting his head backwards, apparently relishing in the warm feeling of the sun on his pale skin. The more Persephone looked at him, the more she recognized he did not belong on her mother's meadow. The man stood out impressively in his all-black attire, the sickening white of his skin a starch contrast to Persephone's golden complexion.

They could have not looked more of an odd pairing, she thought.

"Not quite so. That would be Thanatos," with that, he took a step forward. It was the first time he had moved from his stationary position ever since Persephone first saw him. Persephone marvelled as she noticed the area of dead, greying blossoms expand.

"Then why do they die? Flowers are not supposed to die here." She said at the same time she bent down to pluck out one of the dead flowers. Persephone glared at it for a moment, thinking to herself about what colour would look best. The flower immediately perked up, the stem regaining its vital green colour, and against her mother's statement, Persephone now held a single rose in between her fingers.

"Astounding," he maffled, his eyes trained on the now living flower in her dainty hand. "Be careful with the thorns, goddess. It is in my knowledge that Demeter would not approve of her daughter getting hurt."

Persephone pursed her lips at the mention of her mother's name. She focused her gaze on his before yanking a single petal from the flower.

"Mother does not approve of many things, and never has it stopped me from doing them. I am the goddess of flowers" She said in a bitter tone, echoing her mother's words from the night before, her voice dripped with coldness. "A simple bloom has no power to hurt me." Her once amiable demeanour morphed into a colder, misanthropical one. She felt the ichor in her veins boil with anger as her hold tightened around the stem of the flower, purposefully stabbing herself with its thorns. Strings of golden liquid trailed out of her fisted hand. She felt numb. He was quick to notice the change in her appearance and how a cold gust of air caressed the meadow.

The now lush flower withered under her stare, turning into nothing but ashes as her temper dissipated.

"Forgive me, Persephone. It was not my intention to upset you." He apologised, bowing his head. She smiled. He respected her.

"You have not troubled me. I am just not very fond of my mother as for now." She admitted, then she thought for a moment. "You have evaded my question once again, what is your name?"

The stranger reached for a flower growing on Persephone's golden hair. She allowed him to take it and kept an impassive look on her face as he examined the blossom. "You may regard me however you wish, goddess. But if it troubles you so much not knowing my name, then I should abide by your request."

During the brief moment of silence that followed, Persephone had never been more attentive in her whole life.

"I am Hades."