I can barely look him in the eyes. I know not what to tell. Especially with prying eyes and so many who will hear. I must be careful.
My voice is calm but low as I recount to the court. “I left my rooms. It felt like falling into a dream, and when I woke, I was somewhere else.”
My father looks solemnly into my eyes, the corner of his mouth turning down. “Stolen in the night. But you are unharmed?”
“I have not been harmed, Father.”
My father exhales, as if he is relieved.
“I am glad you were not harmed,” he says, pulling me close again. “You have the favor of the Fates.”
The Fates…just the thought of them brings back flashes of a memory.
I do not know if I have their favor, but I was given advice.
You may thrive in death as much as you would have in life, they said, in that voice that seemed to come from all of them at once. As much in the Underworld as you can on Olympus. But neither life would be complete.
How am I to be complete, then? I asked.
To simply be, they answered. You do not need to choose.
Chills flow down my shoulders now as they did then.
Once again, my father steps back. He smooths his hand over my hair. He has a soft expression on his face, but a hard glint in his eyes, as if there is something about me he cannot explain.
There is likely much about me that he cannot explain. Does he think I spent my time in the Underworld isolated and caged?
“I have questions,” I tell him firmly.
“I will answer all in time, but?—”
“Where is my mother?” I question, not allowing him to finish. A hush falls around us, and my father doesn’t answer me.
“Persephone,” my father says in a low, careful tone. “My daughter. I need to know. Did you eat the food in the Underworld?”
“I wasn’t starved, if that is what you mean.”
He glances at Hecate, who says nothing.
“I mean…” My father hesitates. This, too, seems false. When has he ever hesitated like this before? It is never because he is unsure of his thoughts. It is always done because he wishes to give a particular impression. It didn’t seem quite so obvious before I went to the Underworld. “Did you eat the seeds of the pomegranate?”
His face does not change once he asks, and that is how I know.
This is the thing that matters to him. The pomegranate seeds. They hold some importance. A great importance, if my father’s neutral expression means what I think it does.
I look directly into his eyes, aware of everyone watching. Aware of Hecate, who already knows.
“Yes.” I do not shout, but I use a clear tone, so that anyone who is listening to our conversation can hear, and there will be no mistake about what I have said. “I ate six of the pomegranate seeds.”
It is then and only then that the lights dim in favor of a stormy sky. His expression morphs to one of concern and the murmurs return, not nearly as hushed as they should be for the concern that suffocates the air.
Hades
I am nothing without my Persephone.
Nothing.
The pieces inside of me are hollow and empty. A shell of what I once was.
