Persephone didn’t remove the gold cuff until she was in her own shower. She stood under a hot stream of water until it ran ice cold, then slid to the floor of the tub. When she pulled off the bracelet, the mark was gone.
She’d always envisioned this moment differently. In truth, she’d imagined gaining her powers and Hades. She’d imagined having the best of both worlds.
Instead, she had neither.
She knew it was just a matter of time before her mother came to collect her. A sob caught in her throat, but she held it back and dragged herself out of the bathroom.
She was her own prisoner.
Hades was right, and the weight of his words crashed down on her in the night, eliciting a renewed stream of tears. At some point—she didn’t know when—Lexa climbed into bed with her, drew her into her arms, and held her. That was how Persephone fell asleep.
When she woke the next morning, Lexa was awake and watching her. Her best friend brushed her hair out of her face and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“Is it…over?”
Persephone nodded and forced the tears away. She was tired of crying. Her eyes were swollen, and she couldn’t breathe out of her nose.
“I’m sorry, Persephone,” Lexa said, and bent down to hug her close.
She shrugged. She was afraid to say anything—afraid she would cry again.
Despite this, she felt different. She had a renewed determination to take control of her life.
As if on cue, her phone vibrated and when she looked down, she found a message from Adonis: Tick Tock.
She’d forgotten his deadline. She was supposed to have his job reinstated by tomorrow. Knowing that was impossible, Persephone had no other options.
If only she could get those photos, he’d have nothing to blackmail her with.
“Lexa,” Persephone said. “Isn’t Jaison a programmer?”
“Yeah…why?”
“I have a job for him.”
***
Persephone waited in the Garden of the Gods on campus. She’d chosen Hades’ garden, mostly because it offered more privacy from prying eyes and eavesdroppers.
She’d spent the morning telling Lexa everything that had happened with Adonis and asked Jaison if he could hack into the mortal’s computer and delete the photos he was using for blackmail. The amount of joy he’d gotten from the request was comical; during the hack, he’d uncovered a wealth of information, including Adonis’s informant.
Persephone’s phone buzzed and as she checked it, she saw Adonis had texted.
“Here.”
When she looked up, she spotted Minthe and Adonis approaching from opposite directions—Minthe glaring, Adonis wide-eyed.
They came to a stop a few feet from her.
“What is he doing here?” Minthe snapped.
“What’s she doing here?” Adonis asked.
“It’s so I won’t have to repeat myself,” Persephone said. “I know Minthe took the photos you’re blackmailing me with.” Her phone buzzed and she checked it before adding, “Or rather, I should say, were blackmailing me with. As of this second, your devices have been hacked and the photos removed.”
Adonis paled, and Minthe’s glare deepened.
“You can’t do that—it’s—it’s illegal!” Adonis argued.
“Illegal like blackmail?”
That shut him up. Persephone turned her attention to Minthe.
“I suppose you’ll run and tell on me?” the nymph asked.
“Why would I do that?” Persephone’s question was genuine, but Minthe just seemed irritated, pressing her lips together and snarling.
“Let’s not play act, Goddess. Revenge, of course. I’m surprised you didn’t tell Hades I was the one who sent you into Tartarus.”
“Did she just call you Goddess?” Adonis jumped in, but a glare from Minthe and Persephone had him silent again.
“I prefer to fight my own battles,” Persephone said.
“With what? Your words?” Minthe offered a sarcastic laugh.
“I understand that you’re jealous of me,” Persephone said. “But your anger is misplaced.” If anything, she should be angry with Hades, or maybe angry with herself for wasting time pining after a man who didn’t love her.
“You understand nothing!” Minthe seethed. “All these years I stood beside him, only to wither in your shadow as he flaunted you to his whole kingdom like you were already his queen!”
Minthe was right—she didn’t understand. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to dedicate your life—your love—to a person who never returned it.
Then Minthe added in a shaky voice, “You were supposed to fall in love with him, not the other way around.”
Persephone flinched. So, Minthe had been aware of the terms of the bargain. She wondered if Hades had told her, or if she’d been present when Aphrodite had set her terms. It made her embarrassed to think that Minthe had watched her fall in love with Hades, knowing his deception.
“Hades doesn’t love me,” Persephone said.
“Stupid girl.” Minthe shook her head. “If you cannot see it, then maybe you aren’t worthy of him.”
Anger ignited in her veins, and her fingers curled into fists.
“Hades betrayed me.” Persephone’s voice shook.
Minthe snorted.
“How? Because he chose not to tell you about his contract with Aphrodite? Given that you wrote a derisive article about him within a few days of meeting him, I’m not at all surprised he didn’t confide in you. He was probably afraid that if you found out, you would act like the child you are.”
Minthe was treading on thin ice.
“You should have been more thankful for your time in our world,” she added. “It’s the most powerful you will ever be.”
It was at that moment Persephone knew how it felt to be truly wicked. A smile curled her lips, and Minthe suddenly sobered as if she sensed something had changed.
“No,” Persephone said, and with a flick of her wrist, a vine shot out from the ground and curled around Minthe’s feet. As the nymph started to scream, another vine closed over her mouth, silencing her. “This is the most powerful I will ever be.”
She snapped her fingers, and Minthe shrunk and morphed until she was nothing more than a lush mint plant.
Adonis’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “Oh, my gods! You—you—”
Persephone approached the plant and plucked it from the ground, then she turned and kneed Adonis in the groin. The mortal collapsed, writhing on the ground, clutching himself and moaning. Persephone watched him a moment, content to see him suffer.
“If you ever threaten me again, I will curse you,” she said, a deadly calm overtaking her voice.
He spoke between breaths. “You… can’t… have… Aphrodite’s… favor!”
Persephone smirked and tilted her head to the side. It wasn’t until a slender vine reached around to caress his face that Adonis started to scream.
Persephone had turned his arms into literal limbs, and they were quickly growing foliage.
His pain forgotten, he shrieked. “Turn me back! Turn me back!”
When he saw she was not moved by his demands, he turned to pleading.
“Please.” Tears spilled from his eyes. “Please. I’ll do anything. Anything.”
“Anything?” Persephone echoed
“Yes! Just turn me back!”
“A favor,” Persephone bargained. “To be collected at a future time.”
“Whatever you want! Do it! Do it now!”
But Persephone didn’t, and when Adonis realized she was making no move to reinstate his arms, he grew quiet.
“Do you know what a corpse lily is, Adonis?”
He glared at her and didn’t speak.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, mortal.” She dropped her glamour and took a threatening step forward. “Yes or no?”
Adonis’s eyes widened, and he wiggled away, whimpering, “No.”
“Pity. It is a parasitic flower that smells like decaying flesh. I’m sure you’re wondering what this has to do with you. Well, it’s a wager. If you touch any woman without consent, I will turn you into one.”
Adonis went pale but managed to glare at her. “A wager usually implies I get something in return.”
She shook her head at his stupidity. “You do.” She leaned close. “Your life.” For emphasis she held Minthe—the newly transformed mint plant—aloft, examining its green leaves. “She’ll make a fine addition to my garden.”
She snapped her fingers, and Adonis’s arms were restored. He floundered for a moment during the transition, but once he was on his feet again, she turned on her heels and walked away.
“Who the fuck are you?” he called after her. Persephone paused, then turned to look at Adonis over her shoulder.
“I am Persephone, Goddess of Spring,” she answered, and disappeared.
***
Her mother’s greenhouse was just as she remembered: an ornate metal structure covered in glass, nestled in the rich woods of Olympia. It was two stories, the ceiling was rounded, and at this moment the sun shown in a way that made the whole thing look like gold.
It was a shame she hated being here, because it was breathtaking.
Inside, it smelled like her mother—sweet and bitter, like a bouquet of wildflowers. The scent made her heart ache. There was a part of her that missed her mother and mourned how their relationship had changed. She had never wanted to be a disappointment, but more than that, she didn’t want to be a prisoner.
Persephone spent time walking the paths, passing colorful beds of lilies and violets, roses and orchids, and a variety of trees with plump fruit. The flutter of life was all around her. The feeling was growing stronger and more familiar.
She stopped along the path, recalling all the dreams she’d had when trapped behind these walls. Dreams of sparkling cities and exciting adventures and passionate love. She’d found all of that, and it had been beautiful and wicked and heartbreaking.
And she’d do it all again just to taste, to feel, to live again.
“Kore.”
Persephone cringed, as she always did when her mother used her childhood name. She turned and found Demeter standing a few feet away, her face cold and unreadable.
“Mother.” Persephone nodded.
“I have been looking for you,” said Demeter, and her eyes fell to Persephone’s wrist. “But I see you have come to your senses and returned to me of your own volition.”
“Actually, Mother, I came to say that I know what you did.”
Her mother’s expression remained distant. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know you kept me hidden here to prevent my powers from manifesting,” she said.
Demeter lifted her head a fraction. “It was for your own good. I only ever did what I thought was best.”
“What you thought was best,” Persephone repeated. “Didn’t you ever consider how I might feel?”
“If you had just listened to me, none of this would have happened! You didn’t know any different until you left. That’s when you changed.” She said it like it was a horrible thing—like she resented who Persephone had become. And maybe that was true.
“You’re wrong,” Persephone argued. “I wanted adventure. I wanted to live outside these walls. You knew that. I begged you.”
Demeter looked away.
“You never gave me a choice—”
“I couldn’t!” she snapped, and then took a deep breath. “I suppose it didn’t matter in the end. It all happened as the Fates had predicted.”
“What?”
Her mother glared. “When you were born, I went to the Fates and asked of your future. A goddess had not been born in ages and I worried for you. They told me you were destined to be a Queen of Darkness, the Bride of Death. Hades’ wife. I could not let that happen. I did the only thing I could do—kept you hidden and safe.”
“No, not safe,” Persephone said. “You did it so I would always need you, so you would never have to be alone.”
The two stared at each other for a moment before Persephone added, “I know you do not believe in love, Mother, but you had no right to keep me from mine.”
Demeter blinked in shock. “Love? You can’t...love Hades.”
She wished she didn’t, then she wouldn’t feel this aching in her chest. “See, that’s the problem with you trying to control my life. You’re wrong. You’ve always been wrong. I know I’m not the daughter you wanted, but I am the daughter you have, and if you want to be in my life, you will let me live it.”
Demeter glared. “So, this is it? You have come to tell me you’ve chosen Hades over me?”
“No, I came to tell you that I forgive you…for everything.”
Demeter’s expression was one of contempt. “You forgive me? It is you who should be begging for my forgiveness. I did everything for you!”
“I don’t need your forgiveness to live an unburdened life, and I most certainly will not beg for it.”
Persephone waited. She wasn’t sure what she expected her mother to say—maybe that she loved her? That she wanted a relationship with her, and they would figure out this new normal?
But she said nothing, and Persephone’s shoulder fell.
She was emotionally exhausted. What she wanted now more than anything was to be surrounded by people who loved her for who she was.
She was tired of fighting.
“Whenever you’re ready to reconcile, let me know.”
Persephone snapped her fingers, intent on teleporting from the greenhouse, except that she remained where she was—trapped.
Demeter’s face darkened with a devious smile.
“I am sorry, my flower, but I cannot allow you to leave. Not when I have just managed to reclaim you once again.”
“I asked you to let me live.” Persephone’s voice shook.
“And you will. Here. Where you belong.”
“No.” Persephone’s fists curled.
“In time you will understand—this moment will be forgotten in the vastness of your lifetime.”
Lifetime. The word made Persephone breathless. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime locked in this place—a lifetime without adventure, without love, without passion.
She wouldn’t.
“Things will be as they were before,” Demeter added.
But things could never be as they were before, and Persephone knew it. She had a taste—a touch of darkness—and she would crave it the rest of her life.
When Persephone began to shake, so did the ground, and Demeter frowned. “What is the meaning of this, Kore?”
It was time for Persephone to smile.
“Oh, Mother. You don’t understand, but everything has changed.”
And out of the ground shot thick, black stalks, rising until they shattered the glass of the greenhouse above, effectively breaking the spell Demeter had placed upon the prison. From the stalks, silver vines twisted, filling the space, breaking the structure, flattening flowers and destroying trees.
“What are you doing?” Demeter screamed over the sounds of bending metal and breaking glass.
“Freeing myself,” Persephone replied—and vanished.
