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“What’s that flower over there?”
“Come back and play with us, Persephone.” The water nymphs called to her. “We can’t possibly leave the water’s edge.”
“It looks like it’s weeping.”
One of the nymphs strained to see what had caught her attention, then sank back into the river, the movement creating soft waves that lapped at Persephone’s ankles.
“It’s only Narcissus,” It replied. “Come back and play with us.”
Persephone paused, still eyeing the flower with a longing gaze. She wrung her fingers together and furrowed her brows as she weighed her options.
“Your mother would not want you to run off on your own.” One of the Nymphs chimed in, and that settled the matter. She didn’t want her mother to worry, always so sweet and protective of her, so she sank back into the water with a giggle and re-joined her friends.
The water was cool on her breasts, a welcome respite from the warm summer heat. It caressed her skin as she floated about on her back and enjoyed the quiet afternoon. She often visited this lake, mostly hidden by willows and ivy and overgrown bushes, to play with the water nymphs. Unlike many of the residents of Olympus, the water nymphs eased her anxieties with their care-free personalities and wild way of living. They didn't judge her for her beauty or her sheltered, naive heart. They simply enjoyed her company and nothing else mattered.
Her mother allowed these visits under the condition that she not leave the river-bed. Despite their delicate appearance, nymphs were quite formidable. They were, however, confined to the water.
Persephone turned her head to the side, catching glimpses of the flower Narcissus through the lush thicket as she floated down the lazy river.
Flashes of yellow.
Something pulled at her heart as she watched the flower pass by.
She lifted her hands out of the cool river and let the water roll off her fingertips and onto her face. Her mother, Demeter, would throw a fit. She couldn’t disobey her one rule - no matter how much she wanted that flower.
“You are not yourself.” A smooth, exotic voice pulled her out of her daydream. She looked over to see a pair of cat-like eyes, the skin around them lined with pale blue scales. The nymph looked her over, her mouth dipping in and out of the water. “Were you at Olympus again?”
Persephone let her hands sink back into the water and turned her gaze upwards. “Mother and I are usually here on earth, away from the other Gods.” She said, looking off. “It wasn’t until recently that most of them even knew I existed - that was mother’s choice. But she thought today should be different. She thought it was time to make another appearance.”
The nymph girl began to stroke Persephone's crimson-red hair, sprawled out in an arc around her. “And then?” She purred.
“We broke bread with Hera and her son, Ares.”
The nymph’s hand faltered. She cocked her head to the side, her in-human eyes narrowing. “You broke bread… with the god of war?”
Persephone shrugged, but the green-haired nymph pushed.
“What was he like, our great god of war?” It asked, its lightly scaled hand continuing its descent up her long locks. Persephone closed her eyes. It felt good.
“Big.” She whispered, and her friend snickered.
“Big?”
“Beautiful.” She said, eyes still closed. But the corner of her mouth turned up in a shy smirk.
The Nymph began to swim in circles around her, gently pushing her until she was spinning down the river.
“Scary.” Persephone added after a bit of thought. “I thought he was scary.”
“I would be embarrassed to be called a god of war and not be scary.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
Persephone was young, and like her mother, a goddess of spring. Together, their duty was to bless the mortal harvests and work to keep the land warm and fertile. They were very close and dear to each other. It was because of this bond that her mother Demeter was unusually protective of her, hardly ever allowing her to leave her side. She had kept Persephone at a distance from the court of Olympus and instead had chosen to raise her among the mortals. A gentle life was better, her mother would tell her. God’s were too unpredictable.
Because of that, the question of why she had spent the morning with Hera and her son had hung in the air all afternoon. Her mother, the woman who had, for the most part, avoided Olympus like the plague since Persephone was born, had accepted Hera’s invitation with little hesitation. Perhaps it was because the queen herself had sent the invite, she had thought, but she wasn’t convinced.
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She hadn’t met her half-brother before today. Ares was always away fighting or at war, as was his nature. Everything she knew about him had been from stories, and seeing him at a dainty table drinking tea with three women had been almost comedic. His considerable frame had towered over the rest of them and his hands had been so large she thought he would shatter the cup they held. But he had played the able host, and no dishes had been broken.
His famed scar, she had noticed immediately. It was an ugly, savage mark on an otherwise perfect face. Its pale color contrasted the tan skin around it, a thick white line running from eyebrow to jaw. It seemed fitting, though, that the god of war should wear this mark like a badge of honor, showcasing the brutality of his trade. She wondered who the warrior was that had given it to him - and if he still lived.
He had been stoic but polite, speaking only when necessary and with a voice like a deep rumble. Persephone had felt intimidated by his presence, more often than not staring at her cup and wondering what the life of a killer must be like. When he looked at her, his eyes had been dark and steel-like, and everytime their gaze met she would duck her head. She had never grown accustomed to human contact, much less a deadly, massive god of war. It was hard to believe they were related.
A hazy voice brought her out of her thoughts. She slowly turned towards the source of the noise. “Hm?” She roused herself from her memories.
But the nymphs only splashed around her, busy enjoying the day. It didn’t seem like any of them had been paying her any mind.
They had refused clothes, and their breasts were tipped with light blue nipples, a detail that always fascinated her. They glittered softly as the sun glanced off the soft scales.
The memory of Narcissus tickled the back of her mind.
She glanced over into the thicket to catch another glimpse of the alluring flower. It was still planted in the center of a nearby meadow, an odd spot for a single flower to grow. It seemed almost out of a painting, she thought.
She had never heard of Narcissus before, but the Nymph girl had seemed to recognize it right away. It seemed odd to her, that a goddess of spring had never known this flower. It wasn’t right, she told herself. Wasn’t right at all.
Without realizing it, she had climbed up onto the riverbank to get a better view of it. She squinted her eyes as she pushed herself higher onto her hands. She thought she saw the flower shimmer in the afternoon sun, but she couldn’t be sure.
She glanced around, noting that the nymphs were distracted and oblivious to the plan slowly forming inside her head. She knew she wasn’t supposed to leave the waterside, but what harm could come from a few moments away?
A thrill shot up from her belly to her throat as she lifted herself completely out of the water. The drops of water that fell to her toes felt heavier than usual, but a mischievous spread over her face, accompanied by a feeling she was used to pushing down. Just a few moments, she told herself. Her mother need never know about this little excursion.
She pushed aside the branches that stood between her and her prize with nervous, eager hands. Her feet eventually left the wet, mulchy earth and landed on soft grass as she made her way out of the riverbed and into the meadow. Each footstep felt loud in her ears as she marched further and further from the water.
Her excitement grew with each step closer to the yellow flower, and she felt greedy as she pondered all the ways she could preserve the plant, eventually deciding that she would plant a whole row of them in their spring garden. Her mother would forgive her recklessness if she could only see the flower herself, Persephone knew. She smiled smugly as she neared it.
She could hear someone calling her name - distant and foggy in the back of her mind. But the voices vanished as soon as she stopped moving, her eyes turned down towards her feet.
She knelt, feeling dazed and giddy and more than a little breathless. This had been worth it, she told herself. So, so worth it.
The voices came to life again behind her, this time more urgent, but she paid them no heed as she reached out a dainty hand and gently brushed the petals of narcissus. It was soft against her fingertips and she shuddered at the feeling. The flower practically glowed with radiance at her touch, and she felt utterly lost as she gazed upon its beauty. Quickly deciding the risk had been worth it, she grabbed the stem and pulled.
But the flower remained in the ground.
Confused, she pulled a bit harder. Still, it refused to budge.
Deciding that the difficulty in obtaining the flower definitely coincided with how much it was worth, Persephone grabbed the stem with both hands and began to tug at it with all her might. She pulled and pulled until her back began to hurt. To her delight, a small crack appeared in the earth where the flower was rooted, and she doubled her efforts to free the stubborn plant.
As she continued to pull, the tiny crack began to split wider and wider until finally it opened and the flower was yanked free. Persephone fell backwards with a thud, her long red hair splaying wildly about her as she struggled to right herself. After pulling herself up onto her knees, she looked at her hands and beamed at the prize they held.
However, to her horror, the crack in the earth had grown beyond Narcissus. And it was growing, still. She watched with growing panic as it ripped open the earth with a grating sound, and Persephone fell back in fear, the flower dropping from her hands and entirely forgotten. She scrambled backwards as the earth began to tear wider and wider.
She froze in utter terror as a great cavern opened up before her. The earth around it broke into pieces and fell through into a yawning blackness so dark and frightening, she thought no bottom could exist.
She could hear the despondent cries of the water nymphs, trapped to the river, as a strong wind brought a shadow before her - a shadow of a man. It shimmered and morphed until the shadow was no more, and only the man remained.
He stood tall, his black cloak whipping in the raging wind the cavern had created. Persephone stopped struggling and beheld the man before her. Not a man - a God.
His skin was as fair as ivory, his hair as dark as raven wings. Shadows soaked the very air around him as he stood above her, his black boots mere feet away from her cowering body. His gaze landed on her, his eyes the color of spilled blood.
“Please.” Her whisper was lost in the roaring of the wind.
His eyes grew cloudy, and the shadows raged around him, wild and unchecked.
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The feel of familiar magic suddenly permeated the air, and she tore her gaze from the stranger. Tears stung her cheeks as she frantically looked around, but the gale cascaded the scent in all directions. She knew that smell. Knew it well.
She was wide-eyed and tearful by the time her mother’s form began to materialize a length away. Relief flooded through her as she leaned towards it, the comforting sight of her mother’s face causing tears to flow freely down her face.
But then she was being grabbed, and the earth fell away at her feet, sending her and the stranger into darkness and far, far away.
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