THE WORLD WAS GREY WITHOUT HER IN IT.

The day she had finally accepted me for who I was - in fact, loved me for it - was the day I had thought that all those centuries of meaningless existence would finally come to mean something. Perhaps, being lonely taught you what it was like to love and be loved by someone who was as new to it as where you. That maybe all this time, all this waiting... held some divine significance. That I would do it all over again. Wait a hundred, a thousand, a million years - to meet her.

Apparently, I was wrong.

Fate was a cruel, cruel thing. It was a vile mistress, tempting in its forbidden secrets, giving you a taste of something you craved so badly... before snatching it away from you.

The endless morning passed by in a blur, spoken sentences and whispered judgments passed one after the other. As if something... something in the air had died, leaving everything behind nothing but a series of robotic, mechanical motions.

Perhaps that was all I was ever destined to get.

"Anything else?"

The judges were clearing up at their table, Thanatos lingering glumly at my side, Hecate half hidden behind a pile of scrolls. We were back to where we were before - with none of her liveliness, her mirthful laughter, her bold, yet wild words. Charon looked up, the burning embers of his eyes hidden under the shadowy rim of his hat.

"That will be all for today, my Lord... unless you wish to-"

"We are done here then," I got up, words too cold, voice too brusque for my liking. It was hard - it was hard to be kind, to be gentle and yet fair - to be back to the hopeless, unknowing man I was before. As if she had left me, and all those qualities of mine that made me a man - they had left me too. It had brought out the worst of all that lived in me - and yet there was no one I blamed for it but myself.

Because none of this would have happened if I had caught Rosamund that day in the garden.

A sharp whistle blew from my lips as I beckoned to the angry, hissing hound circling the doors, as if waiting for someone about to arrive. The first time it happened, he would not come in the entire night. And now? Now I had accepted the reality, unlike Cerberus - who stood waiting at the doors of the hall every single day, waiting for the lady of the house to come back.

"Hades," Hecate's voice drifted across to me over the dying sunset. I turned to find Thanatos and her wringing their hands. "You have to forgive yourself for what happened. It's high time you stopped-"

"We are not having this conversation," I muttered under my breath, beckoning over the beast to me with a pale finger. He growled, nipping at my hand.

"Perse wouldn't want you to blame it all on yourself-"

"Don't you dare tell me what Perse wants!"

It was not her who flinched, but Thanatos, face dropping into a picture of misery. He moved to put a hand on my shoulder - but all I felt was a cold, dead weight on my skin. As if touches - anyone's touches - had stopped meaning anything to me.

"She would-"

"I said no," I snapped. Just hearing her speak her damn name made this revolting, monstrous thing in me rear its head. It was like a poison, taunting me with the desperation, the loneliness - that empty bed I came back to each night. The cold sheets. The rotting silks in her dresser. The ivory pearls, the empty bottle of ambrosia right beside the huge stack of books on the desk. Moisture stung my eyes like a snake. "I'll be back before dinner."

Hecate's eyes widened, and sighed deeply, smoothing over her expression into a mask of ice.

"Okay," she said at last. "Okay."

I found myself wandering in the forest at twilight.

Perhaps it was just something about the place - or something about her. How this place felt the closest to her. The closest to what I could get to her. The way she lived and breathed in the scented air of those lush green oaks, the dewy scent of the fresh grass, the deep, silver woods. This place spoke to me of cemeteries and smoke and poetry, of Persephone.

And even though I knew the forest like the back of my hand - I was as lost as a curious wanderer taking a stroll through the trees.

It had been a golden, glorious afternoon that day. She'd been wearing nothing but her skin, wrapped in one of my cloaks, diamonds sparkling on her neck like fresh drops in the rain. Her hair flew behind her as she ran, my helm of darkness on her head.

Catch me, Polydegmon. Can you catch me?

I'd given her chase at first, letting her skip away from me, if only to hear the delicious laughter pouring from her lips. It was fuller than birdsong, her laugh. It filled my heart and made it overflow with the feeling, so full that it made me want to sing. Even though I was a terrible singer.

She made me want to sing, to sin.

I still remembered her delighted moans, the wicked smile she gave me when I finally caught her in an embrace and pulled my cloak off her, grinning as I did so. I still remembered the rich laughter spilling from her red lips as I lay her down on the floor, worshipping every inch of her luscious body as we rocked together in something sweeter than salvation.

The damn memory hurt so bad that it made me want to tear my heart out from my chest.

And even with her gone, her scent lingered everywhere. The tender, quiet scent of newborn roses, of lavender and fresh sage, the lush fragrance of jasmine. Notes of her aroma drifted along in the breeze, marking every inch of her forest.

Because this forest was hers.

It was her sanctuary, her paradise, her salvation. Every inch of it was hers - as if touched by some invisible footprint, a marking resistant to time. Because time did not take away her scent from those flowers buried in the ground, the crushed azaleas in the storm, the wet scent of earth and mud and bone. Even the rain dared not erase it - and instead her presence taunted me every time I set foot into the woods.

I claimed her as my own forever, the forest seemed whispered to me.

So had I.

Promised to keep her safe, keep her from harm.

And then I had broken that promise I made to her.

And then the tears were back, hot and heavy, the unusual cold of my cheeks burning up in nothing but tears of regret, of shame. Of guilt. It left me gasping, choking - not for breath, but for her.

Because she was the air I needed to breathe, and I could not live in a world without her without losing my mind.

Listlessly, I moved through the forest, lingering in the night like a living ghost. I plucked blood red orchids, ink black roses, cutting off the thorns before I did so. Such a small, minute action. Something I had done for her hundreds of times - her arms looped in mine as she gathered roses, turning around with a smile so that I could put them in her hair.

She would never see me cutting the thorns off before tucking them into her locks - would never see the tiny pinprick of blood of my fingertips before I sucked them dry. It would not do to have these thorns hurt her. I'd pluck the thorns out quietly, then twist the stems in her hair, running my fingers through the richness of her mahogany tresses.

She never let anyone else do that for her.

Not her mother, her ladies, or Hecate.

And I felt that tiny kernel of joy bloom in the gloom of my chest. Letting me plant the flowers in her hair was our ritual, our secret. A sacred thing no one else could share. A tiny, insignificant thing to an outsider - but so important for us.

I finally gathered the blooms, winding them together with a piece of twine as I did so. Even the beauty of those gracious blossoms, of nature - was lost on me. As if all those things of beauty were beautiful no more because the one who made them beautiful was here no more.

Finally did I lay the flowers to rest at the foot of the grave.

The grave of my son.

A son I would never know, would never have. The only thing I knew was that I would love him till the end of time, just the way I loved his mother.

I did not know how long I sat there in the rain.

I was vaguely aware of Cerberus sitting guard beside me, his anger melting away in the soft rain. All I knew was the memories, the nightmarish, treacherous memories swirling in my head. Those dreams were an ocean, and I was drowning in them. I didn't even know if the moisture on my face was the rain or my tears.

I sat there past sundown, the moon beginning to rise over the hills giving rise to chilly winds. Fully drenched, I finally rose, soaked to the skin. The prospect of spending another lonely night in that huge chamber, watching the rain beat against the window over the empty sheets - the prospect of it was devastating.

Trudging to the dining hall with an angry Cerberus at my heels, I proceeded to take off my gloves, the wet leather slick against my skin.

"Hades!"

Hecate was back, and I was about to snap at her before she held up her hands in surrender.

"Wait - there's a shade. They need you in the Hall."

"Tomorrow. I'm hungry," I moved her aside quietly, feeling the growl of my stomach out loud.

She didn't move. I shot her a filthy glare, and she returned it with an obscene gesture that would have made a maiden blush.

"Hecate-"

"Work calls first," she snapped at me, eyes blazing. "Put that down and come with me," her eyes moved to the already full glass of ambrosia in my hand. "Hades!"

I sighed in defeat, putting down the goblet and trailing after her. The corridors were empty - as if everyone was somewhere else. Visitors at this hour were not unusual, but her obstinacy to attend to it at once certainly was.

I pushed open the doors of the Hall of Hades.

The night was alive, and the entire court was in session.

And the throne - the throne was not empty.

Astounded, my eyes fell on the person sitting on it - at the sheer ease with which she rested on that seat, the quiet familiarity with which she gave her people her orders. The spirits at her feet begging for mercy, and that deadly, wicked crown on her head.

More startled than ever, I froze. Froze in confusion, in shock. I turned to find Hecate shooting me a knowing smile, then to Zeus and Hera, who grinned with a shrug of their shoulders.

She was - she was wearing that breathtaking wedding dress of hers.

She was glowing.

As if - as if something were different about her. Different, as if she wasn't an outsider anymore - but a person of this world. The color had returned to her face, to her vivid green eyes that watched me with nothing but pure love. And in her arms - in her arms was-

My heart skipped several beats.

Persephone had come back.

My family had come back.