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Kore,like Hades, didn’t receive an invitation to the banquet. He’s alesser god,according to the whole of Olympus. Though he is the Mother of Harvest’s heir, Kore must watch the banquet from his room. Zeus' palace glitters in the moonlight with the same intensity it does in sunlight. Gold that sparkles from the surface and from within. Festive music carries through the night. Otherlessersgather in the paved streets—in their rented threads and borrowed finery—absorbing Apollo’s harmonies with hunger. During the festivities of the greater gods, lesser deities band together and laugh as they speak of opulences they can’t hope to achieve. Kore’s envy is different. He doesn’t crave the money and status that comes with being one of the greater gods. Kore, for all intents and purposes, possesses those things. What Kore craves is the freedom to exist in the open. Even Hephaestus, the disfigured and disappointing son of Hera and Zeus, exists in the eyes of Olympus. Hephaestus receives invitations to the banquets, and Hephaestus shows his face while speaking histrue name.
Kore hates his name.Persephoneis the name of a ghost that never existed.
His phone pings, drawing Kore from the morose thoughts that plague him on nights such as these. Nights when Kore feels the sting of each reminder that he’s not worthy of his mother’s presence.
Agrippa’s text asks if he wants to join them at a concert in the park. Such questions are veiled requests for the sticky, green buds Kore grows. Usually, Kore willingly plays the role of an anonymous god. Most nights, he gathers his silken pouch of smokeable herb and laughs at all the stupid jokes while rolling blunts. Tonight it feels different. Tonight Kore’s too raw.
On nights such as this, Kore needs a different way to forget.
Ignoring Agrippa, Kore opens a different text thread. He sends a message to Karya—one of the many nymphs who always saysyes.
He’s not sure why she never denies him; Kore is cold with women. There is no love between them and he doesn’t allow any of his carnal friends to misinterpret his meaning. He’s an ass, but he won’t fake love to spare feelings. That’s a different kind of wrong. Kore will never tell a woman he loves her; he doesn’t believe himself capable of that sort of connection. Demeter broke him with her hatred. Oedipus taught all beings that they’re looking for their mother in their lovers—at least that’s what his professor says inIntro to Legends and Psychology.
“That was quick.” Kore says when Karya’s shadow casts across his dark floor from the light in the hall. He’s still holding his phone, the text less than five minutes old.
“You caught me when I was bored,” Karya replies, a little too breathless to be blasé.
He never gets her naked. That’s another of Kore’s rules. Commanding her to lift her skirt and put her ass up reminds them both that this is a transaction. Though, when she gasps his name, he wonders if it’s about time to cut Karya loose. Kore doesn’t pleasure her the way a lover should. He uses Karya’s body with the same care he employs while handling a disposable cup. Karya should give herself to someone who wants to cherish her the way she deserves.
That will never be me.He thinks through his underwhelming orgasm. The irritation still moves beneath his skin, pulsing in his veins. Sex can’t release his disappointment in life.
Kore pulls up his jeans, not bothering to zip them as he grabs a blunt from his bedside table. He lights it without offering the roll to Karya first.
As he inhales, Kore watches her, spreading herself out across his rumpled bed. Karya’s chest heaves, and she smiles at Kore in a manner that says she’s satisfied. That’s a lie.
“I enjoyed that,” she tells him. Trailing the tips of her fingers over the lace of her dark bra. In the dark, Kore can’t tell if it’s blue or purple, but he knows Olympians well enough to know it’s not black. No Olympian dares to wear Erebian colors. No one except for Kore.
“Did you?” He asks with a sharp tone, flicking ash for something to do with his hands.
“Did you not want me to?” Karya counters, sitting up with a teasing grin that irritates Kore more than it should. She’s allowed to flirt with a man who had his cock in her.
“I don’t really care if you enjoy yourself or not,” Kore admits, blowing a cloud of pungent smoke into her face. “You knew what this was when we started.”
Karya tightens her jaw, narrowing her eyes at him as she hisses. “One day, Kore, you’re going to want someone the way I want you.”
He laughs, “Am I?”
“Yeah, and they’re going to make you feel unwanted.” It feels like a curse, one he’d actually bother to care about if it came from the mouth of a greater god. From Karya they are useless words, uttered in rage. “I hope you love them more than they love you. Then you’ll know how much this hurts.”
Kore doesn’t watch her storm dramatically from his room. His gaze returns to the party for Hebe. Zeus' palace fills Olympus with the sounds of happiness. Fireworks erupt above the gilt walls, showering the sky with light in shades of violet, fuchsia, and gold. Leaning against the window, Kore watches groups as they mingle on the balcony that leads out of the main ballroom. A room in which he’s certain his mother boasts about her perfectdaughter. The one who doesn’t exist.
I fucking hate this place.
2
Hades
She ignores three of Zeus' summons. After the third, her tantrum-loving brother threatens Hades with battle. Hades considers the benefits of war while she stands before the golden gate leading into Zeus' private corner of Olympus.
War would equal ridding herself of these bonds with her youngest brother, a tempting notion in recent centuries. During the length of Kronos' imprisonment, Zeus lost sight of his original goal. He forgot benevolence and righteousness as he indulged in hedonism. Hades wonders what thread of fate will see them standing opposite each other on the battlefield.
Without question, the guard at the gate grants Hades entry. She makes her way through the overflowing gardens that surround Zeus' private palace. Hera employs Demeter and her nymph army to keep the gardens lush, vibrant, and beautiful. Hades stops before a wall of star jasmine, leaning close enough to take in the sweet bouquet.
I wish things like this would grow in my realm. All the precious stones and metals, but not a single sweet-scented flower. Despite all my efforts, the narcissus won’t grow where it’s wanted. If Demeter kissed up to me as much as she did Hera, I’d have a garden to envy.
A person moves beside her, startling Hades enough to stumble backward into a statue of Eros. The golden arrow of his bow pricks her skin, and she releases a shout.
