on the return to the underworld

She falls through the chasm of unowned time and space, the petals that made up her maiden gown disintegrate into stars as she descends into the darkness. It’s never ending but over all too fast and she stands in the surf of the ochre black ocean that laps at rocky shore. The waves reach her knees at the most, she can feel them as the crash onto her sun kissed skin. The sand beneath her feet is cold, and somehow still soft and she bends to touch it, running her fingers through the broken ground that feels so much like home and when she rises again, she can feel the eyes on her. Ahead, standing tall on the banks, are the fates. They watch her as with scepticism she moves towards them, and as she nears, they part to give way for him. She knew this would be the way, that the second she left the valley and began her downward decent in the Styx he would have known. And now he’s here, and his eyes are as dark as the ocean she still stands in. Suddenly she’s self-conscious, hyper aware of her torn gown, how exposed she is standing before. She shouldn’t be, she knows that, they’ve shared a marriage bed after all, but that was over a thousand years ago – and so much has changed now. She holds no power here now, her has it all, and she’s utterly unarmed. Her arms are crossed in front of her, as a shield or to hide her from his gaze which slashes across her skin. The walk from the edge of the surf seems to take centuries. On all sides, the fates watch her, their stares unblinking, their loyalty to the king never wavering. She searches for a friendly gaze, these girls were once her closest confidants, but the eyes that meet her shows no recognition and she is forced to turn her sights back to the imposing figure ahead of her. He’s just as she remembers, but as she gets closer, she can see the years have taken their toll on his features. Ravens prints settle in the corner of his eyes, his brown dents in the centre, she supposes from years of playing diplomat to his demanding brothers. He remains unmoving as she takes all this in, his face an unreadable mask. She used to be able to read him, even when he sat as staunchly still as he does now. She used to know what each blink meant, like they were joined in the mind. Seeing him again has confirmed it, she knows she shouldn’t have left and she tries to write this into her eyes as she meets his. She’s six steps away now… five… four… three and she stalls. His face breaks out into a smile, the light suddenly emanating from his gaze would burn bodies alive but to her it’s crowning. When he extends his hand he’s holding a fruit, a pomegranate and his voice is kind, laced with teasing as he speaks:

“Welcome home, Persephone.”