We waited in the house for six days. Demeter spent most of her time cleaning everything, even things that looked perfectly clean. I knew she could've just used her magic to fix it all in seconds, but I didn't question her. Maybe the motion, the act of doing something with her hands, kept her from thinking too much.
As for me, I didn't do much. I sat. I wandered. Sometimes I just looked around, hoping to find something interesting. But the days were long and quiet, and the silence was louder than I expected.
Today was different.
Today, Demeter's daughter was coming.
We waited outside for hours, the breeze growing colder with each passing minute, like the world was holding its breath.
Then, with a great gust of wind, two figures appeared out of thin air.
One was Hermes—blond hair, winged shoes, that usual smug grin like he knew things no one else did.
Next to him was a woman. Her hair was white like fresh snow, and her face resembled Demeter's, but only just. She wore a deep green dress, almost black in the fading light. Her eyes were a piercing, glacial blue.
Demeter ran to her immediately, fussing over her like any mother would. Asking questions, touching her hair, and being distraught over the change.
Her daughter didn't say much. She looked distant. Like her mind was still somewhere else—or with someone else.
Before she could answer, Hermes stepped in.
"She ate pomegranate seeds in the Underworld," he said casually, like he was reading off a shopping list. "Six seeds. So Hades claimed her as part of his realm. Zeus made a ruling—she'll spend six months of the year there, and six months here."
Demeter was furious.
The second Hermes finished speaking, the calm around us shattered. The wind howled. The warmth of summer began to creep into the air, melting the last traces of snow that clung to the ground.
She clenched her fists. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but rage.
"She is mine," Demeter growled, eyes blazing. "Not for the Underworld. Not for him."
The earth beneath us rumbled softly, as if unsure whether to rise in rebellion or beg her to calm down.
"I want my daughter back. In full."
The skies darkened.
And just as the storm was ready to break, Hermes stepped forward, grabbing her arm with the easy calm of someone who's done this before.
"I'll take you to Olympus," he said. "Argue with Zeus. Not with the world."
Then, in a gust of divine wind, they vanished—just the two of them—leaving me alone with Persephone.
She didn't speak at first.
She just stood there, staring at where they had been, the wind lifting strands of her white hair like petals in a storm. Her expression didn't show fear. Or surprise. Just… acceptance. Like this was all expected.
And now it was just us—the Spirit of the First Withering and the Maiden of Spring turned Queen of the Dead.
I turned to her and stared for a moment, letting the quiet stretch between us.
Then I went inside. She followed me, not saying anything, just trailing behind like a memory that hadn't decided if it wanted to fade or stay.
She sat down near the back door that led outside, right by the kitchen, even though this house probably held more of her memories than mine.
I walked to the stove—an old thing made of bronze and stone. I opened the lower compartment, loaded in some wood, and then turned to her.
"Can you make fire?" I asked.
She looked up at me with eyes full of sorrow, and without a word, she pointed at the logs. Flames sparked to life.
"Thank you," I said, my voice low.
I formed three snowballs in my hand, cold and compact. I dropped them into a bronze pot and set it over the fire. The snow melted instantly into clean water.
I waited, watching the steam rise.
Then I closed my hand again, picturing the tea leaves I used to drink in... wherever I came from. My time. My world. I wasn't sure which it was anymore.
The leaves formed in my palm, familiar and fragile. I dropped them into the boiling water and let them steep for a few minutes. Then I poured the mixture into two cups.
I grabbed the honey jar and walked over to her.
She turned to me, finally.
As I got closer, I handed her one of the cups and the honey jar.
"What is this?" she asked, cradling it carefully.
"Tea," I said simply.
While she held the jar, I pried it open and shaped a small spoon of ice in my hand. I dipped it into the honey and stirred it into my cup. She watched for a moment, then created a spoon of her own wooden, and did the same.
We both took a sip.
Then silence fell, warm and heavy like a blanket draped over our shoulders.
"I didn't want to come back, you know," she said quietly.
I said nothing. I just kept sipping my tea.
"I wanted to leave this garden. To see other things. Did you know... I've never left here? I was born here. Lived here. Always here."
She looked into her cup like it held the truth of the world.
"But then I heard him. He was... kind. He spoke to me every day, telling me the strangest things. At first, he was only a voice. Then one day, I saw his face."
She paused, breathing out slowly.
"Chaos, it wasn't. His face was so... common. So normal. Not at all like the image I had built in my head. But I suppose that doesn't matter. We gods can change our forms, wear masks like robes. But when I saw him, I realized I had already fallen in love with him... long before I ever met him."
Her voice trembled just a little.
"So I asked him to take me. And he did."
"And when I found out what was happening up on Earth because of Mother's grief..." she said, her voice barely a whisper, "I felt guilty."
Her eyes didn't rise from her cup.
"I saw so many souls appear in the Underworld... from the cold. I knew it was my absence. I caused it. When I heard Hermes was coming to fetch me—on Father's orders—I panicked. I ate the food of the dead so I could stay. Not out of defiance... but fear. Love. Maybe both."
A bitter smile played on her lips, then faded.
"But it only worked halfway. And now... I don't know what I should do."
I looked at her, quiet for a long breath, and said:
"Tell Mother the truth. Or live with regret for all of eternity. And if she refuses to understand your sorrow, remind her of who you are... because you are not her 'dear older sister'."
Her eyes widened—stung by something I'd said. Maybe the advice. Maybe the truth of her title. I didn't stay long enough to find out.
I set the empty cup gently on the ground and turned away, stepping out into the open air beyond the house.
Then I lifted my voice and spoke to the wind like an old friend.
"Dear friend, free me from the weight of this world. Carry me through the skies."
The wind listened.
It gathered around me like arms, like wings, and with a mighty gust, I was airborne—rising above the house, beyond the trees, into the clouds.
Oddly, I didn't fear the height. The sky was vast, and I—small. But not afraid.
I flew for what felt like hours. The world below was a blur of green and gold. Then, through the mist, I saw it: an island, lush and wild with vegetation, untouched by the cold.
I descended.
Unfortunately, grace was not on my side.
I landed face-first into the earth, the impact carving a crater so deep and wide that, for a moment, I was shocked to still be alive.