by M. M. Kin
Mother had never discussed such stories with her, Persephone mused.
“All but of the girls killed their grooms as their father had ordered, for he was a powerful and despotic king who did not hesitate to punish or execute his subjects whenever he saw fit. The lone innocent maiden spared her husband because he had honored her wish to not give up her virginity to a man she did not know, and thus their wedding night was peaceful. Because murder is a severe crime, the others had to come here to Tartarus. However, they had no malice in their hearts and were fearful of their father not without reason, and being forced into their wedding beds by their grooms only exacerbated their terror. Though these men were murdered, they had their own crime, that of forcing themselves upon innocent maidens and planning to take Danaus's kingdom for their own. Had they not, they might have been spared just as their brother was spared by Hypermenstra. So her sisters' punishment was to draw water from the Cocytus and fill up the tub so they could bathe in it and wash away their sins."
Doesn't sound too bad, Persephone thought to herself. The river looked placid, and she didn't see any instruments of torture. She knew better than to voice that assumption.
“There is more to it, is there not?” Persephone asked as her eyes moved to the pile of urns, noticing tiny perforations around their rounded shapes.
“By the time they got to the tub, most of the water had leaked out. It took them many years to complete the task. They could complete this task on their own time since there were no shades to push them along. Every time they stepped into the Cocytus, they were overcome with incredible sadness and lamentation. Some of them lamented more than others, but as you can see, all finished the task in due time."
“Does this river run through other parts of Tartarus?”
“Indeed. Through Tartarus, the Cocytus cuts a winding path, as does the Acheron and the Phlegethon, flowing where they are needed.”
It was a unique punishment indeed, but she could see Kampe's wisdom. Persephone could understand how having a cruel father who threatened your life, and a groom you had never met before taking you by force, could reduce a woman to such measures. Had she had a sword or dagger when Ares tried to force himself on her, Persephone wouldn't have hesitated to stab or castrate him.
She felt appreciation to Hades for honoring her wishes, and as if he was aware of her feelings, she felt him squeeze her shoulder as the trio continued down the path.
o0o
Persephone's stomach had been bothering her for most of the day. It was something other than hunger pains, and it had been located below her stomach. Having a scrumptious-looking feast in front of her as Hades had his supper only increased her discomfort. She curled up on the divan, her back to the table as she tried to ignore the tantalizing scent of the dishes. She heard him coax her to come and eat, but she covered her ears with her hands. Damn Hades!
Finally, the door to her room swung open. She retreated into it without so much a glance over her shoulder, closing the door behind herself. How dare Hades try to coax and tempt her with the food when he saw her discomfort! In her anger, she slipped off her sandals and flung them against the wall. Cloe appeared in a moment to pick up the shoes and put them away, which only vexed her all the more.
Tartarus had been a wonderful distraction, but she had also felt moody this morning, wishing to see something darker than the library or one of the gardens. She couldn't explain why she had felt so impatient and frustrated even when Hades hadn't forced her to sit with him for the morning meal.
With an angry mutter, she pulled the pins out of her chiton, letting the soft black material fall to the floor before pulling her tunic over her head, becoming aware of a hot slickness on her thighs as the cool air caused goosebumps to rise along her naked flesh. With a thoughtful frown, she reached down.
Her fingers came away wet, and Persephone stared down at the crimson slickness on her fingertips.
Chapter XXII
o0o
Persephone stared at the bloodstains on her trembling fingers, her heart beating rapidly as she tried to process what had just happened to her. Why was she bleeding? She wasn't bleeding from... there, was she? Hesitantly, she turned toward the mirror and approached it, barely conscious of her shallow breathing.
With her other hand, she reached down, careful to not touch anything until she reached her most private part. Tentatively, she slipped her finger between the soft folds of flesh down there, discovering slickness that didn't come from arousal.
No no no. She felt as if she might faint. Why was this happening to her? Had her body somehow responded to the horrors of Tartarus?
Those who enjoyed inflicting pain upon others in life were rewarded with torture for eternity. Some were chained while various abuses were inflicted upon them – whippings, stabbings, needles, fires, hot oil – while others were allowed to run around in a confined space, but this provided no reprieve because there was always a shade to punish them, driving them on with nail-studded whips. The flesh would tear and fall apart. The souls were tossed into the firepits to regenerate their flesh, and the pain would be inflicted anew. A few of the inmates of Tartarus even had their bodies removed, leaving them nothing more than heads stuck on poles, screaming and wailing, denied their bodies until the shades decided to toss them back in the firepits, which might be the next day or several centuries hence.
Her first thought was to panic and go to Hades for help. A brush on her arm caused her to gasp and shudder, and she looked over her shoulder, seeing Cloe. She blushed even though she knew that her servant was merely a shade, with no mind or personality of its own.
The shade floated there, waiting for a command. Apparently, it had sensed her distress, but this was a situation it had never encountered, and it was waiting for her directive. That gave Persephone something to focus on, and she took a deep breath, focusing on practical matters, grateful for the shade's silent efficiency as it fetched her what she'd asked for.
Once the immediate crisis had been addressed, she sat down in front of her mirror, clad in a chiton and robe of dark indigo and violet, recalling memories from her childhood in Enna. That part of her life seemed almost like a dream sometimes.
It had been over a decade since her father died and she had been taken away from her family. It didn't matter if Zeus was her sire, she would always consider the people she left behind as her family. She had been treated with love and warmth by everyone. She missed them and often reminisced about them even though Mother said that that part of her life was past.
One day, she and Alestis had gone to one of the ponds near the farm with Ptheia to collect berries. Her aunt had taken a basket of laundry with her and while the girls romped and collected blueberries as well as herbs, Ptheia washed clothes, beating them against a rock and hanging them up on the branches of a tree.
By chance, Persephone – Kora back then – noticed that her aunt had a rag at the bottom of the basket that was dark with blood. She wondered if Ptheia had hurt herself, and watched silently as her aunt scooped up some water into a clay bowl and washed the rag in it before wringing it out on the grass, so as to not dirty the pond. She repeated this process a few times, refilling the bowl and dumping its contents on the grass.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Kora asked, breaking the silence. The older woman looked up, startled.
“Are you well?” the girl asked, concern evident in her tone.
“No, But thank you for being so concerned. You can go collect some more blueberries.”
“What happened, then? Did someone else hurt themselves?” Kora could not help but ask.
“No,” Ptheia sighed quietly, shaking her head. “It... comes with being a woman. You and Alestis will learn about it soon enough.”
“Why would a woman bleed? Does it hurt? Where do you bleed from?”
“So many questions, Kora. Your husband will have to be a very smart and patient man,” Ptheia replied. Now, as Persephone thought about it, her aunt's statement had been uncannily
prophetic.
“Do men bleed?” Kora could not help but ask.
“It would be nice if they did,” her aunt replied ruefully as she wrung out the rag one more time before hanging it up to dry.
“Why?”
“It would make them more humble, for one thing. But no, it is a woman's burden. You will learn about it in a few years and your mother or I can explain it. For now, just enjoy your girlhood. It is short enough as it is, so do not dwell upon such matters.” There was a tone of finality to her voice which made it clear that she would not answer any more questions about the subject, at least not until the right time came.
When she had asked Mother about why a woman bled, Demeter had become tight-lipped, refusing to speak of the matter at all.
Persephone stared at her reflection in the mirror, admiring the swell of her breasts under her tunic, and the graceful curves that were replacing her almost boyish angles. Oh yes, she was finally taking on a woman’s form. She wished that Ptheia had been willing to discuss the subject further. How often did this happen? How long? Did Ptheia experience the same pain she felt in her lower abdomen? Did all women feel vaguely cranky or irritable when they bled? She tapped her chin, pondering the fact that her breasts had felt slightly tender the last couple of days, especially her nipples. Was that from her the effects the Underworld, had on her, or did it have something to do with this bleeding?
The underlying irritability she felt fed her resentment towards Mother. If Mother had been honest with her, then she would know exactly what to do and what to expect.
It was something all women went through. Ptheia took care of her husband and children like any other woman did. Evidently, this bleeding wasn't dangerous or harmful, though she still needed to know why and how. Who would answer her questions? She would simply figure that one out on her own if she had to, and rose to her feet, feeling more confident.
At least, until she thought about leaving her room. She would have to face Hades. How long could she hide this from him? How did women deal with this around males, anyway? How much did men know or understand of this? Oh dear, there were more questions than she had originally thought...
Staring ahead, she picked up her brush and ran it through her hair in slow, idle strokes. Normally she would have Cloe do her hair, but she was looking for an excuse, any excuse, to delay facing Hades, since she was still angry with him about supper, and her overall grouchiness certainly wasn't doing any favors for the Dark God.
She tugged her brush through several tangled locks and felt the wispy, ethereal fingers of her attendant brush against her hand.
“No!” she growled. Obediently, Cloe drew back.
o0o
Hades had already changed into a comfortable robe, ready to relax for the night with his bride. At least, he hoped she would want to relax with him. They'd had a pleasant time today in Tartarus, but her attitude towards him had deteriorated at supper. He had heard the rumble of her stomach, why did she have to be so damn stubborn? What was she afraid of? She seemed to enjoy everything she was shown, including Tartarus.
She had even shown disappointment in the fact that the Furies had not been in Tartarus at that time – they sometimes went to the surface to torment mortals and drive them mad – and had seemed eager to come back to Tartarus at a later date so she could meet them. Her interest was genuine – she wanted to know things and her questions were interesting, rather than seeking knowledge merely for the sake of escaping the Underworld. How could he convince her to take a bite of the otherworldly food?
He waited for a while before he rose from his bed and approached the door to her room. He wouldn't let her sulk. He hated seeing her angry or perturbed, and he paused before her door. Never in his entire existence had the feelings of somebody else affected him in such a way. He was generally cold and aloof, yes, but he was also fair, and deep down inside, compassionate. But he had never been moved as he was now, and it was a feeling he was far from used to. He was upset with himself for upsetting her, angry that she continued to be defiant, and baffled at her refusal to eat his food.
“Persephone,” Hades said loudly before giving the door a couple of sharp raps. No response came from within, so he opened the door without hesitation. She sat on a stool in front of the mirror, staring ahead blankly as she brushed her hair. He stared for several moments as the brush went down her hair slowly, tugging at the thick waves. She did not acknowledge him.
Like the shadows that he controlled, the Lord of the Dead moved across the floor smoothly, dark and regal as he approached her from behind, his pale face standing out amidst the muted light of the chamber. Persephone's eyes flickered as she noticed his reflection in the mirror before looking down.
“I do not like to see you unhappy,” He placed his hands on her shoulders. She continued to brush her hair, and he grabbed her wrist, holding it in a firm but gentle grip.
“I do not want to see you go hungry. I am sorry you are upset, but I cannot sit by and watch you starve yourself.”
“If you would bring food from the surface world, you would not have to watch me starve. Then you would not have to be so concerned,” Persephone replied primly, trying to tug her wrist from his grip, but he did not budge. Being the daughter of the Goddess of Bounty, it was a certainty that she had never before known hunger, so her resolve was as impressive as it was vexing.
Already her self-denial was not without consequences. Free of her mother’s magic, her body was molding itself to what it should be, but not without signs of her deprivation. There was a slight hollowness in her cheeks and shoulders, and she was becoming paler.
“I have told you before that I will not be doing that. The only way to sate your hunger is to eat what I offer you,” he replied calmly and resolutely.
Persephone sighed, shaking her head in irritation.
“We had such a lovely day today. Please do not sulk.”
“Then kindly refrain from setting all that food before me!” she replied petulantly.
“I cannot let you starve yourself. Must I tie you up and force you to eat or stand by and watch you waste away? I do not relish the thought of either,” Hades scolded.
“I have no desire to talk about it,” Her eyes were downcast
“... Very well.” He slowly let go of her wrist to stroke her hair. “Come to bed, then, and sleep.” All he wanted was a night of peace.
“Do not tell me what to do.”
Hades raised an eyebrow. Was she looking for a fight? Hmm. He smirked wryly. Normally, he did not respond to deliberate provocation, but this might be what was needed.
“I am your husband and master,” he stated imperiously, biting back a smile as he saw her cheeks flush in indignation.
“You are not! We are not even married!”
“Oh, is it a ceremony you want?” Hades did want one, but he hadn't wanted to force her into one, so the subject had not been approached. He would prefer her to eat the food of the dead first and accept her place here so she would be a happy bride for the wedding. “I will be all too happy to oblige. The tailors will make a glorious wedding dress for you. What color would you prefer? Oh, this is so exciting. This will be the first wedding we have ever had in Khthonios.” In a rare moment of playfulness, he clapped his hands together like an excited child.
“Hmph! I think not. Go away,” she pouted.
“Such behavior is not fitting of the Queen of the Dead,” the Lord of the Dead retorted, dropping his hands.
Persephone whipped around to glare up at him. “You sound like Mother. 'Such behavior is not fitting for the daughter of a goddess', she would say when I did not want to listen to her orders.”
“Yet you refuse to eat my food so you can go back to the surface, and you know what your mother is likely to do.”
“I want to see the world.”
“Accept what I offer you, and you will have the world.”
“I am not in the mood for riddles.”
“Then what are you in the mood for
?”
“I don't know.” Persephone huffed softly, setting down her brush. It was clear she was frustrated about something, and that she didn't know how to – or didn't want to – voice it.
“How about a bath? I will massage your back,” Hades offered. Perhaps being in the hot water would ease the perturbed and unhappy glint he saw in her eyes.
“No.” She looked away, as if afraid by the thought of a bath.
“Perhaps I could... soothe away your frustrations...” His voice dropped lower, taking on a velvety tone.
“No!” This idea seemed to bother her even more than a bath with him.
“Why are you so upset?”
“Hmph.”
“Come now, love. Talk to me.”
“No.”
Hades let out a quiet huff. Women could be so... baffling sometimes. Rather than seek further engagement, he decided a graceful surrender would keep them both in better spirits.
“I hope that you know you can talk to me,” he finally said after several moments of terse, awkward silence. She nodded briefly.
“Leave me alone,” Persephone stated after several more moments of silence. “Please,” she quickly added.
o0o
In the mirror's reflection, she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes, but she regarded his pain with frosty silence. He looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her face before he retreated from the room.
