THE FINE FABRIC OF THE THIN, SHIMMERING CURTAINS BLEW ABOUT SOFTLY IN THE GENTLE BREEZE.

Quietly, silently, I made my way to the wedding chamber, boots clicking loudly on the cold stone floors. The ceremonies had been endless, with the guests piling gifts higher than the towers of Olympus. Music from the divine flutes at the celebration outside still drifted in like a forgotten wisp of smoke. Wider and wider had my Queen’s eyes grown - wide with delight, or wide with fear - or perhaps both.

Silks of every vivid colour possible, boxes upon boxes stuffed with diamonds, baskets heaped with fresh fruit and heavy with dewy blossoms lay piled on the endless tables in the Hall of Hades, from where I now took my departure, desperate to see my… wife.

I was about to push the door open, when I stopped myself, hearing the heavy thrum of my beating heart pound in my ears. Heavy and loud did it beat - dripping with desire to see her, to touch her, to ravish her. To hear her gasps, her moans, her passionate cries.

The world was mine for the taking.

I knocked on the door quietly.

“It’s open.”

It was all I could do to not fly in like a thundering stallion, and restraint reigned me back as I curled my fists, taking a deep breath. How delicious she had looked in that blood red dress, how lovely.

Her maidens must have left the room a few minutes ago, stealthily stealing away once they had done their duties, had prepared her for the night. The room smelled of jasmine and white rose as it drifted in lavender wisps of smoke. Incense burned sweetly at the corners of the dimly lit, rich, handsome master bedroom.

She sat on the bed, her back to me, stiller than a porcelain statue. The ladies had robed her in an ink black dressing gown of pure satin. It was richly embroidered with roses and dragons, entwining and merging and disappearing into the shadows before emerging again from the folds of her sleeves. Her hair was braided with a shimmering ribbon of gold, secured with a spring of lilies and swept to the side.

The bed was sprinkled with rose petals, laid out carefully on the soft velvet sheets.

I paused, waiting to unclasp the cloak and put it aside, eyes still on her waiting form.

Persephone didn’t even turn around.

Sucking a deep breath, I closed the heavy door behind us, hearing the quiet click of the lock ring in the scented air. The ground was cold under my bare feet, which gratefully sunk into the plush carpet. I opened an expensive bottle of champagne with a pop, expertly pouring the glittering liquid into two ornamental goblets. Taking a sip of the heady drink, I walked to her side of the bed and silently offered the other to her.

She sat still, the heavy crown she had worn earlier in her lap, her eyes distant - and very, very far away. Her fingers caressed it softly, gently, feeling the cold metal slide under her finger tips. Then her graceful head turned to me, lost in a sea of misery.

“I do not like the taste,” her voice stirred like broken ice.

“I insist.”

Heaven knew she needed some liquid courage, needless to say after looking at her pale white face. Those spring green eyes looked up from where they had been lingering over the spires of her new crown, settling on me with an uncanny certainty. Quietly did she take the drink from my hands.

I looked at her lithe form, as graceful as a swan - sorrowful, sad, lost as if in deathly mourning. Nearly all the colour had left her cheeks which had been shining like winter apples not mere hours ago. She looked pale, and cold, as if built out of ice itself.

“Drink, Persephone.”

She silently took a sip as if for my sake, grimacing a bit but then seeming to feel the welcome heat of the alcohol. Her cheeks turned slightly pinker, and the ravaging desire in me flared again at the delicious way her eyes shone, like depths of ocean green.

“Do you like it?”

“My mother… she - she would never allow me to taste the wine… she said it was for adults, not spring girls like me.”

Anger rose in my veins, striding in like a mighty stallion. The way Demeter treated her girl - no wonder she felt so out of place, as if living out of her own skin. I wondered if she felt stifled by it, choked to death by it.

“Do you still miss her? Even after… this?”

Persephone took another sip before tugging at the gold braid of her lush brown hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands and twirling them around her finger. Her gaze was glassy again, and I slowly grew to realise that it was slowly filling with salty tears.

“Yes. Can I go back home, please?”

The breath I took in was sharp. I did not like it. This angered me. The way she worshipped her bitch of a mother, the way Demeter made her follow her around like a lost lamb. It sickened me, disgusted me, the way she threw away her life for that woman who called herself her mother. Worse even Zeus himself.

“This is your home now, wife. And you will stay here - whether you like it or not.”

Her lips pressed together in a rosy line, in a way similar to her father.

"I assume you know what happens to a woman on her wedding night."

She dared to look me in the unforgiving eye, gaze glassy, shaking with fear yet trembling with something like irresistible courage. Nerves of steel glimmered under her features, challenging me, daring me to break her.

How fickle those Olympians were, fickle little creatures of lies and silk and summer skies.

But the one in front of me, ah. A true creature of darkness. Lovely, like a forgotten strip of satin binding together a heart full of dark secrets. The way those eyes had practically glimmered at the sight of that forbidden crown, ah. The delight of it had almost made me want to take her then and there.

Well, then. This was it.

“Take off your robe, Persephone.”