I spin forests and weave oceans.
I build cities of coloured marble in every shade Hades has ever painted.
I think of the people, the lives I have jurisdiction over; this world was always meant for them. I think of them filling these spaces, their joy and their laughter and their love, and the strands burn beneath my fingertips. The world wants it too, I can feel that, but this is so much. Every little thing I create tugs at me, draws me down, begs me to rest.
I feel incredible. I feel exhausted.
I grit my teeth, some instinct telling me that if I don’t finish this now while the strands are malleable they will settle into their new shapes. I either do it all at once or I don’t do it at all.
I warp grains of sand into being until beaches stretch for miles, complete with lapping waves and seaweed clinging to the banks. I press in the footprints Hades added to his painting and make sure everything moves the way it should, specks of sand shifting under foot, moulding together, ebbing and flowing with the breeze.
I stagger.
I draw birds in the trees, open their mouths and fill them with music, until all I can hear is their singing, a cacophonous shriek of euphoria.
My knees hit the ground beneath me.
I trail clouds in the sky, every shape I’ve ever watched drift past while dreaming of a better life, every shade between eggshell white and iron grey. I let them waft in a soft whisper across the sky.
I can’t breathe.
Snow floats down on the mountaintops, big and fluffy pieces that cling together on the slopes, icy cold and I –
I’m so cold.
A blaze of warmth – pressure, a hand in mine. A beacon – glowing and pulsing, molten gold begging to be poured.
Hades is giving me his strength, allowing me access to the power I accidentally took once before.
I take it and a jolting rush threads through me. I draw myself back up and blaze a round sun into the sky, let its heat revive me and finish crafting this land: seashells, rainbows, dew, coral reefs, butterflies.Flowers.
I let go of Hades’ hand and thrust the power away before it can overwhelm me. The burn is replaced by a warmth that floods through me – a comfort, a muscle that has enjoyedbeing stretched. I blink golden light from my eyes and, even though I just created it, I gasp when I see paradise before me.
The sky is blue – the kind of blue I only saw in Sicily if I woke at dawn and watched the sunrise fade. An oasis glistens in the distance. Trees are scattered everywhere and flowers spread free in meadows, across buildings and down streets, their scent mixing with the salty sea breeze. Flowers are everywhere. And all I see is colour.
Hades comes to my side, stretching his arms, and I wonder if he feels as exhilarated as I do or if he just feels the tiredness making my bones heavy.
On the other side of the Styx, the field of asphodel remains untouched. There, souls await judgement to determine whether asphodel is all they can hope for or if they have something brighter – or darker – in their futures.
‘Fates,’ Hades breathes, staring wide-eyed. This is his creation as much as it is mine. These are the things he painted: the city that crawls towards an ocean, waves lapping at the shore, boats floating on the horizon. He created every tip of those mountain ranges. He made that forest with its hidden lakes and meadows, the deer rustling through it. He painted this. And I drew it to life.
The sight of paradise is nothing compared to the sound of joy. The souls are screaming and cheering and running to see their new world. In moments music fills the streets as instruments are taken up. Fires burn and the smell of roasting garlic carries on the air while platters are hauled out, carrying bright drops of fruit and honeyed cakes. The cheers and jubilation reach a crescendo. The souls are singing. And dancing. They’re so happy.
I turn to Hades, tiredness vanishing in the heat of my excitement.
‘It worked!’ I screech, and I reach for him, throw my arms round him.
‘It did,’ he confirms. He designed this paradise but he’s not even looking at it any more. He’s staring right at me, tired eyes alight with wonder. He wraps his arms beneath my own, his hands on my waist, and I jump up and down and he spins me and I hold on tight. He smells like pine needles and paint.
‘It will need work, some refining as issues come up, but … Hades, it worked!’
He puts me down but I don’t let go. He tucks my hair behind my ears. I don’t think he even notices he does it, but I’m rooted to the spot, heart pounding. Then his hand is on my shoulder, warm and heavy, and I can’t stop staring at him, every plane of his face, every eyelash, every tiny movement. I just created something incredible but, right now, this ledge with him feels like the real paradise.
‘It did,’ he confirms. ‘And the whole court shall know about it, will know it was you. No more hiding.’
How does he do that? Always know the things I want without me even having to say.
His hand squeezes my shoulder. ‘You once asked for the world, Persephone. Congratulations, you just created one.’
