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Not here, not in the freezing waters of the Aegean. Of course she wouldn’t die in the water, no matter how hard they hit the surface, she was an immortal god. She could never truly die, not in the way humans did, at least. There would be no finality to her death; her life would simply cease to exist above.
The curse is what will kill her.
She knew the end of her semi-mortal life was imminent. Knew from the moment Hades appeared with his chariot in the sky, soaring toward her at inhuman speeds, looking at her with the deepest disdain and fury she was sure he had ever felt before.
And it was her own fault.
Gods could not be cursed. She had known that. Had known that magic was a mortal problem, a mortal creation, and unable to harm the immortal. The immortals they prayed to and praised and glorified with their festivals, their rites and their homes and stories. Hades was even less likely to be effectively cursed, being The Chthonic God.
Eyes clamped shut as hard as her hands still clutching the chariot, regret filled Persephone’s heart. Pushing it down, she choked on tears and sobs, not wanting to look weak in front of Hades.
If only she could apologize to him. She wished it would be enough to fix the chaos she created, but the feeling the fury that filled the god beside her, she knew it could never be.
It was over.
The deal she had made prior to their marriage, the six months she had convinced him to give her were never going to happen now. Now when the anger oozing from every inch of his body, every silky strand of his hair coasted with rage deeper than the depths of Tartaros.
She had wasted her last day living on Earth. Not among the mortals she had always favoured, not even with the immortals that she loved more than herself or the flowers or the springs. The immortals she loved more than she had ever loved Pelops.
No, she spent her last precious hours cursing the god she had already tied her life to.
For nothing.
Soon the water was no longer rushing passed her, no longer plastering the linen to her body and pushing her hair back with a painful amount force. The icy wetness was replaced with cold, dry air, and dread replaced the regret and pain aching in her heart.
The horses had ceased running, the chariot slowing to a stop.
When Persephone opened her eyes she expected to be faced with the golden gates of the towering stone palace carved into the mountain range stretching across the Underworld, but there was only darkness.
Persephone lifted a hand in front of her face, but could not see it. She blinked, making sure she had in fact opened her eyes, but it remained pitch black around her.
Reaching out to touch something, anything that might be close enough to graze her fingers against, Persephone tried to determine where she was in the realm without her eyesight. Her fingers met nothing, falling through the air until they touched her own body and hung at her side once more. The chariot’s edge should have been in front of her, she had been holding onto it seconds ago, but where her hands had been grasping before, there was nothing.
“Hades,” she called, her voice stiff from being controlled, being pushed down, for those long hours, day, minutes; she couldn’t be sure how long had passed since the abduction from the flowering hill.
“Persephone.” His voice echoed around her, seemingly bouncing off the darkness, bouncing off her body, her name echoing around her. A breeze brushed her legs, the fabric dancing along her calves ever so slightly.
“Why are you hiding?” Her voice shook.
“What makes you think I am hiding?” The breeze answered, picking up to a brisk wind, blowing her hair around her head just enough to prick her eyes.
“I cannot see you,” she started, her voice betraying how irate she was becoming with him and the game he was playing with her, “because you are hiding in the dark.” She knew he could see her so she crossed her arms and scowled as she added, “Like a child.”
A booming laugh reverberated through the darkness, thrumming against her skin and underneath it. She could feel his power – feel him – slithering down her throat, and through her limbs, her abdomen and back up. The feeling of some thin, slimy creature within her skin, wrapping itself around her bones and squeezing tightly was agonizing.
It was torture, feeling him inside her skin as his voice echoed around her. She was surrounded by him, this life-ending, light-sucking darkness.
Crouching low to the ground, or what she assumed was the ground, Persephone clutched at head, tearing at her hair and scalp. Digging into her own flesh, trying to expel the god infesting her. She whimpered against the overwhelming pain as he pressed against her skull and her bones, as her golden blood spilled down her neck in a thin trickle. She had barely broken the skin, pulled a few long strands from her head, but it was enough.
Enough to bleed, but not the immortal lurking inside her, tormenting her from inside her own body.
It was worse than she had imagined. Always assuming the ways he would torture her would come from exterior forces, from hurting her loved ones or burning her skin. He had invaded her body, her most personal space, and it was excruciating to be put through.
Being stabbed and burned and broken was nothing compared to the absence of freewill, the feeling of someone else being inside your mind and body while you are forced to experience it. She could take out the knife, her blood would heal her burned skin and broken bones, but with this, she had no power, no way to end it.
She would have to get into her skull to end it.
Throwing her hands to the ground, she dragged them in front of her, beside her, behind her, until they were torn and sticky with blood. Small rocks sliced into her bleeding palms. The skin of her knees broke open as she crawled along the ground, feeling around for a bigger rock. Something to break her head on.
