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.

Your mother is not here, Persephone, his voice caressed the edges of my thoughts.

Off came my robe, in a brazen move that overcame my shyness.

And in did I jump.

The delighted laughter of the nymphs joined my own, rich and joyous and giddy with happiness. The water was cool and refreshing, rippling under the moon in a series of waves. I set my head against the wall, feeling the scent of dewy roses rise from the bath. My skin felt softer than it had in ages, glowing lightly as the water shimmered and bubbled around me.

They scrubbed my skin for hours.

Hesitant at first, I shyly turned away when the nymphs gently approached me with a tender smile. But the feeling of her rubbing the coarse washcloth over my back thawed my resolve, melting away my tiredness and relieving me of hours worth of ache.

I had never realised how truly exhausted I had been while coming here.

So I tried to question them. I tried to find out how to leave. I tried to find out what he would do to me. I tried to find out if mother had been asking for me.

But all I got were their angelic smiles.

There was no escape. There was no way out. There was nothing.

They buffed and polished every inch of my skin until it had turned a light shade of shell pink. After coaxing me out of the water, they wrapped a fluffy robe around me, soft and thick. And yet, my questions got no answer.

Warm oils drizzled over my skin, smelling of cinnamon and musk and ivory jasmine.

I nearly fell asleep as their divine hands kneaded and massaged the muscles of my back. My mind kept on spinning in and out of sleep, reeling with confused thoughts that blurred into the fuzzy feeling. The wild, reckless need to escape this strange place filled me up and shook to my core, and I sat up, disoriented, still smelling of jasmine and cinnamon bark.

The slender handmaidens perched me in front of an ornate, gilded mirror, three times as tall as I was. My eyes filled with curiosity as they travelled over the richly panelled walls, the golden carvings engraved along the doors, the sheer, exquisite material detailing the curtains.

And my wandering vision was cut off at once by the nymphs who ordered me to close my eyes.

Hours piled on hours as the feather soft brushes tickled my fraught senses, and the scent of rouge and liquid mascara rose up to greet me. I felt their dainty hands dusting my nose with puffs of fragrant powder. Skillful fingers cupped my chin and painted crimson across my tender lips. Goosebumps erupted over my back as I felt the cold touch of liquid eyeliner, gliding over my lids before ending in a flicked wing on either side. Someone applied scent on my vulnerable wrists, and the aroma of spring magnolia and autumn citrus wafted to me, heavy with undertones of warm pomegranate, and the memories of dark summer. I shuddered again as they dabbed a few more drops on my neck.

They wouldn’t let me go - not like this, no.

I had to find some other way.

I had to wait, perhaps. Wait till I got their trust - wait, before I made a run for it.

And until then…

“Stand up, sweetling,” the nymph’s voice called to me. “This way,” her helpful hand laid reassuringly on mine as I fearfully opened my eyes, slightly trembling as she led me to another corner of the room. The other ladies were hauling a garment bag out of cupboards of gilded ebony as they guided me to the center of the room, their touches reassuring.

A soft yelp wisped out of my lips when I saw my nails, now painted a dark shade of crimson.

It was enticing and lustful and dark, and Mother - she would be furious -

“It’s alright,” the seamstress reassuringly whispered, “it looks beautiful.”

“But I don’t want this,” I cried out. “I don’t-”

“-just see how exquisite it looks on you, my love,” she pressed, holding up my hand in the blooming morning light.

My skin glowed like golden dusk, shimmering as if from within, polished as if it were made of bronze porcelain. And when the crimson of my nails shone against the gold like streaks of vivid coral, I gasped in delight.

“You’re going to love this,” the nymphs whispered, twirling me around to help me into a silken slip of ivory gold. I bit my lips, feeling colour rise to my cheeks as they pulled the silk over my undergarments, which were made of such fine, delicate lace that I could have wept from the beauty of it. One of them helped me to a pair of high heeled shoes that were stood proud on the floor, such lovely, lovely heels -

“I can’t wear those,” my voice protested, “I’ll fall.”

“Lord Hades won’t let you fall, lady,” the lady grinned at me with a silver smile, holding me steady as the others placed my delicate foot in the heeled shoes. It had satin ribbons that wound up my calf and criss crossed in a net of plum red, shimmering in the light like temptation itself.

So pretty, they were - so, so pretty.

The shoes fit perfectly as my feet sunk into the plush velvet, the arches of my foot balanced carefully on it - as if they had been designed especially for me.

My hands shook as I leaned on two of the maidens for support, and they led me to the spot where the others waited with a dress. Another gasp broke out of my crimson lips as I saw the wine red garment, and they waved me over and began to dress me, ignoring my pleas.

My heart sunk as they checked every nip and every stitch of the fabric, keeping me from falling over. And when they were done, they brought the mirror over to me.

A cry of delight broke out of my lips.

The dress was the shade of deep, wine red - the shade you get when you crush the plums grow in the gardens of heaven between your fingers. The shade you get when you drink the juice of plump figs. The shade you get when you pour out a goblet of rich sangria and devour every drop, savouring the heavenly taste.

The exquisite fabric was neatly draped and cut into a strapless dress that clung to my curves and left my sculpted collarbones to shine with flecks of gold from whatever they had sprinkled on my skin. The silk tucked into my waist in ruffles of delightful rubies sewn into the belt, before falling away in a long train to the floor, where it shimmered in a promise of crimson and blood. A huge ruby shone at the hollow of my throat, where it rested quietly, sparkling on a chain of everlasting platinum.

The silk seemed to have a life of its own, swirling in mesmerizing patterns whenever I moved, joined by the soft rustling of rich velvet. The ornaments let out a quiet tinkle as I looked at the rubies now adorning the bracelets on my hands as well.

This was the sort of dress you burnt down cities in.

My hair tumbled to my shoulder in locks of mahogany streaked with soft gold, mingling together like burnt sienna that offset the dusk of my sparkling skin. A single comb held them in place, that too was filled with rubies as I admired the way the curls cascaded down my shoulders in ripples of pure delight.

“I…”

“Do you like it?” the nymph asked.

I could only nod.

“Can I have some flowers, please?” I whispered.

I had to only ask, and a bunch of fresh roses were in my hand the next second, their petals a vivid maroon as dew sparkled on their leaves like emeralds in the night. Lavender and peony peeked out from under the blossoms as they trailed from my hand, ending in ribbons of pearl encrusted quicksilver.

“Lord Hades sent these for you today morning,” she smiled quietly. “He thought you might like the flowers.”

Not just like - I loved them.

The door opened, and a smoky female voice drifted in, joined by Hecate’s glowing green eyes that shone with secrets of centuries past.

“Are you ready to become Queen, Persephone?”

No.

“Yes,” I said quietly, my heart falling to my feet.

∞