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Groans echoed from somewhere below her, somewhere inside the prison. They scratched at her ears, sending shivers up her back, and leeching her nerve from her bones. She wanted to give up — sit down, drop her head into her hands and give up.
The sounds of utter agony wrenched at her heart enough that she started to cry with them, her throat and eyes burning.
Persephone was already several stairs up by the time she realized the suffering moans were not coming from the prison.
28
BIRTH OF THE ERINYES
On the platform below her, a man was chained to the mountain.
Completely naked, and trembling so intensely that the chains sang as they shook. His abdomen was torn up, cracked open down the middle, oozing golden blood with every shaky groan.
Bits of his insides lay at his feet, reminding of her the crumbs left behind on the table after a meal. He looked as if someone had been searching for a specific organ, and dug around inside him to find it, oblivious to the agony they caused him.
Prometheus.
Of course Hades would make sure she passed Prometheus. For she loved mortals almost as much as the titan did; she would happily have stolen from the gods to give humanity whatever they needed. Without humans and their worship the gods meant nothing, so she always viewed them as the utmost important piece to their continued divinity, just as Prometheus did.
His name meant Forethought, yet the Olympians never truly trusted him. They could never understand his obsession with the mortals scurrying over the earth, and they punished him for helping them. And now, they reap the benefits of his defiance, while he rots deep beneath the Underworld.
“Why have me interact with Prometheus, and watch him be tortured so close-up?” She mumbled to Hades as she descended the few stairs she’d managed to climb, returning to the platform. “Why make me watch his specific torture closely? Is this what you want to do with me, Hades?” Glancing down at her feet with every step, her descent was slow and shaky, but she could not afford to miss a step and fall to the rock below, no matter how close it was. She did not think she had the strength to get back to her feet again if she did.
Clearly, Hades had brought the Titan here, to this specific mountain, for her benefit. Prometheus was supposed to be chained to a mountain in Scythia, high above where they stood together now.
This is what loving mortals gets you, she could hear him whisper the words into his ears, could feel the heat of his breath against her neck. Of course, he was not there. She could not feel the heat of his body where it would be touching hers if he was so close. Don’t you see why Pelops had to be disposed of? He would have let this happen to you. He would have taken all that you were, all that you are, and allowed you to waste yourself, your immortality, and power. All so he could claim you as his own for his short, meaningless life.
Prometheus groaned, his head bobbing as he tried to lift it enough to face her.
Persephone did not move to him. She was thankful for the sound he made though, because it pulled her out of her second fake conversation with her husband in hours. Or was it days? How long had she been standing here? How long had she been climbing this mountain?
Now she moved. Not to the chained Titan, but to the edge of the platform. She peered down the side, carefully placing her feet, and pushing hard with her toes before fully stepping onto each spot as she neared the drop.
It was dark below. She could faintly make out the glow of the fence surrounding Tartaros, but otherwise it was pitch black below where she stood. She was very high up this mountain.
Yet, when she looked up, toward the peak once again, it was still black as as starless night. There was no light emitting from Hades’ glorious gate, no brilliant chariots, or glittering stars to lead her way. Only cold, impenetrable darkness stared back at her.
As she pulled one of her heavy feet onto the stairs again, she looked back at the titan, at the bitter chains holding him by the wrists and ankles. She watched as tears streaked his face, cutting through the thick layer of grime covering his skin after centuries of being chained up; his head nodding lightly from side-to-side, his chin kissing his chest.
He finally looked up at her, the strain of the motion was clear from the bulging in his neck, and tightening of his jaw. His lips silently formed her name, beckoning her closer.
Cautiously, she approached the titan. Hopefully his lack of strength was not for show, and he truly could not reach out and grab her, feast on her soul.
“Persephone,” he said, his voice a weak whisper.
“Prometheus,” she said, trying to lower her voice to his volume, but it was no use. Her voice was so loud compared to his that she might as well have screamed his name.
“I—” he coughed, golden droplets of his immortal blood spraying through the air. Persephone was standing just past where they landed, thankful for the space between them for a moment, before remembering she was already covered in her own. “You are,” shaky breaths wheezed through his torn chest, “to be Hades’ match.”
“I am already his wife,” she said in her normal voice, abandoning her attempts at matching his whispered words. It was scratchy and dry as she had hardly used it save for her imaginary conversations with Hades, but loud enough for the Titan to hear with the space between them.
Prometheus seemed to nod, his head lolling more than moving with purpose.
Persephone waited, watching as his breathing evened, and his body slackened in sleep against the bronze fetters, the chains kissing the ground. He slumped onto the wall as much as he was able, his bent knees almost touching the ground, the chains wrapped around his wrists pulling at them painfully. She wished she could offer him some form of reprieve, at least a chair to sit in while he slept.
The darkness above was calling to her, pulling her to continue climbing.
She had just started toward the stairs again when the phantom wind brushed against the back of her legs, gently coaxing her toward them.
