“You must be due soon,” her mother said, placing a palm on her stomach. The babies stretched. They always moved when they sensed Demeter, like they knew she was part of their blood. It gave Persephone hope, that one day she might have some kind of relationship with them.
“Hecate says any day now,” Persephone said, though she was starting to think the babies were determined to prove their auntie wrong.
“Oh, I hope I can meet them,” said Demeter. “I adore children.”
“I know.” Persephone swallowed around the thickness in her throat. “Of course, you must meet them. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Her gaze dropped to the box as she blinked away tears. It was perfect timing as she realized she could change the subject.
“I brought you something,” she said, handing Demeter the box. “A treat. They are called diples. They’re thin, deep-fried dough doused in honey, cinnamon, and nuts.”
Demeter lifted the lid and the smell wafted between them.
“Oh, they are divine,” Demeter said. “They remind me?—”
She paused abruptly, eyes downcast and searching, like she could not quite find the right word.
Persephone held her breath, waiting to discover that she’d been wrong to bring them, only Demeter abandoned the thought.
“Well, anyway,” she said. “Thank you, my dear. Will you sit with me for a little while? Perhaps we can share these?”
“Of course.”
Persephone had many meals with her mother when she was alive, but none of them were pleasant. When she’d gone to college, she had been both eager and anxious for freedom, still chained by her mother’s expectations. Their weekly lunches were Demeter’s stage. She used the time to criticize Persephone’s choices while appearing to fawn over a beloved daughter in public.
Now, when Persephone sat beside her dead mother, their discussions were very different. While not angry or aggressive, they had no substance. Demeter usually talked about the sweetness of pomegranates and pears, her love of figs and olives. She talked about her walks and the paths she took to the sea. Persephone didn’t exactly mind. Listening to her was like listening to poetry about nature. It was evident Demeter loved it, and there was peace in that knowledge.
Today, however, was a little different.
She took Persephone to her favorite tree, a lovely willow whose long branches swept the ground.
“Look,” she said, pointing to a hole in the trunk.
Persephone peered into the hollow and saw a nest with three pretty, blue eggs.
“I will have babies of my own soon,” she said, smiling.
Persephone lowered onto the flats of her feet and looked at the soul who had once been her mother. In this moment, she seemed so childlike. It felt sad, but the alternative was worse.
“What kind of bird?” Persephone asked.
“She is a bluebird,” Demeter said. “She brings me things. Flowers and seeds. Lord Thanatos says I can plant them. I think I will, for the babies.”
“I think that sounds lovely,” said Persephone.
She stayed a little while longer and listened to Demeter make plans for her garden, showing off the items her bird had brought her. They seemed to come from all over the Underworld, Asphodel and Hecate’s cottage, even the palace gardens—twigs and odd, glittering charms, string and ribbons, seeds of all sizes, and dried flowers. It was evident Demeter cherished each one, and for that, Persephone was happy.
When she rose to leave, she decided to walk, summoning her winter cloak and gloves. As soon as she crested the hills leaving Elysium, Cerberus, Typhon, and Orthrus met her, tails wagging. They’d brought their red ball which glared off the white snow.
She laughed and told them, “You will have to give it to me. I cannot bend.”
Cerberus pounced on the ball and lifted it to her hand. She took it and waited until they were all sitting before tossing it.
“Go!” she said, and they bolted, leaving deep tracks in the snow.
She continued her walk, pausing when the dogs returned with their ball, passing trees decorated with lights and colorful baubles. It was truly magical, and her chest tightened, overwhelmed with a feeling of deep gratitude for her life and everything it had become.
As she neared Asphodel, she could hear the children playing, and when they spotted her, they ran to her.
