“What?”
Her mother glared. “When you were born, I went to the Fates and asked of your future. A goddess had not been born in ages and I worried for you. They told me you were destined to be a Queen of Darkness, the Bride of Death. Hades’ wife. I could not let that happen. I did the only thing I could do—kept you hidden and safe.”
“No, not safe,” Persephone said. “You did it so I would always need you, so you would never have to be alone.”
The two stared at each other for a moment and then Persephone said, “I know you do not believe in love, Mother, but you had no right to keep me from mine.”
Demeter blinked, obviously shocked by Persephone’s words. “Love? You can’t...love Hades.”
She wished she didn’t, then she wouldn’t feel this aching in her chest.
“See, that’s the problem with you trying to control my life. You’re wrong. You’ve always been wrong. I know I’m not the daughter you wanted, but I am the daughter you have, and if you have any wish to be in my life, you will let me live it.”
Demeter glared.
“So, this is it? You have come to tell me you’ve chosen Hades over me?”
“No, I came to tell you that I forgive you...for everything.”
Demeter’s expression was one of contempt.
“You forgive me? It is you who should be begging for my forgiveness. I did everything for you!”
“I do not need your forgiveness to live an unburdened life, and I most certainly will not beg for it.” Persephone waited. She wasn’t sur
e what she expected her mother to say—maybe that she loved her? That she wanted a relationship with her, and they would figure out this new normal?
But she said nothing, and Persephone felt her shoulders fall.
She was emotionally exhausted. What she wanted now more than anything was to be surrounded by people who loved her for who she was.
She was tired of fighting.
“Whenever you are ready to reconcile, let me know.”
Persephone snapped her fingers, intent on teleporting from the greenhouse, except that she remained where she was, trapped.
Demeter’s face darkened with a devious smile.
“I am sorry, my flower, but I cannot allow you to leave. Not when I have just managed to reclaim you once again.”
“I asked you to let me live.” Persephone’s voice shook.
“And you will. Here. Where you belong.”
“No.” Persephone’s fists curled.
“In time you will understand—this moment in our lives will be forgotten in the vastness of your lifetime.”
Lifetime. The word made Persephone breathless. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime locked in this place—a lifetime without adventure, without love, without passion.
She wouldn’t.
“Things will be as they were before.”
But things could never be as they were before, and Persephone knew it. She had a taste—a touch of darkness, and she would crave it the rest of her life.
When Persephone began to shake, so did the ground, and Demeter demanded, “What is the meaning of this, Kore?”