September 30
Hades and Persephone Part I
Their story is legend. Storytellers often recount the tale of the beastly Lord Hades, ruler of the Underworld, who swoops down on the helpless Persephone and steals her innocence. They tell of her imprisonment, of humans and earth suffering in her absence, of her grieving mother, Demeter, pleading her case to the committee of gods. And they tell of Zeus's decree, that Persephone be allowed to return above ground six months out of a year. They say that she was, and always will be, bound to Hades, doomed to return to his domain every six months to live out her sentence with her cruel kidnapper, the being who stole her out of lust.
So said the storytellers. But as we all know, these keepers of chronicles don't always speak of the truth. They prefer to wring the words, shape the story, twist the tale, into something that they can use to establish their superiority. In order to control, they must first create fear; and with fear, their wishes and laws will be obeyed. Myths are formed to keep women in their place, to instruct men how to behave, to subordinate those with less power and no land. Without myths, there is no control.
The storytellers manipulated the tale to suit their world. They did not tell the truth.
Here, ladies and gents, is the truth.
* * * She first glimpsed him during her welcome-home ball. Demeter had insisted on holding a party for her, despite Perseph's objections. Perseph hadn't want her return to Olympus to be celebrated on such a grand scale. True, she had been absent for seven years while furthering her studies, but she had never felt part of the gods anyway. They always seemed so distant, so engrossed in their lofty pursuits, only gracing humans with their attention when they were feeling particularly generous. A child of the earth, giver of life and daughter of nature, Perseph always felt closer to mortals than she did to her own kind. That was the reason she left Olympus in the first place, to learn all she could about the seedlings of life. Now, with her return, Demeter could step down and allow her daughter to take her place as the goddess of harvest.
A simple gathering with her loved ones who have sufficed, Perseph thought wistfully. But Demeter loved attention, was so proud of her dearest child that she couldn't resist showing off. Perseph finally relented, indulging her mother's wishes. Demeter meant well, after all. Even if she did invite every god in the land.
He was among those gods.
He was a figure in black, cloaked in long flowing robes that followed him like a consuming shadow. Light vanished as it touched him, which only emphasized the gaudiness of the golden pillars surrounding the crowd. He moved slowly but surely, circling along the periphery of the room, keeping to the walls, away from the other gods. That was all right, for the other gods kept away from him too. They slighted him with narrowed eyes, turning away as if his aura displeased them. They spoke to him only when spoken to, with as much grace as they could muster, but as he rarely sought to converse with them, they were saved the effort.
She was intrigued.
Cyane and Demeter stood near her, both chests puffed with pride. Demeter obviously enjoyed the ball's success.
"Mother?" asked Perseph. "Who is that god?"
Demeter followed Perseph's gaze eagerly, happy to see that Perseph was at last taking an interest in the goings-on of the party. When she saw the figure of darkness, however, she visibly stiffened. Cyane also stepped closer to Perseph, as if in a protective gesture. Perseph could not help but feel a little resentful towards him, despite Cyane being her childhood friend. He presumed too much, in her opinion. Lately he kept talking about their times together when they had been younger, as if to stress how long they had known each other. Perseph feared that he had more than friendship on his mind.
Demeter recovered swiftly, ever the gracious hostess. "That is Hades, Lord of the Underworld. He ascended the throne of darkness right after you left. He is a very powerful god -- he has sole rule of the afterlife. Even Zeus cannot dictate how souls should be treated there."
"It would be wise to stay away from him," Cyane added knowledgably. "They say he is a cold, cruel being."
"Who says that?" Perseph inquired.
Cyane looked nonplussed. "Why, uh, everyone, of course. He tortures mortal souls for things they had or hadn't done while they were alive. He glories in fire and darkness, in pain and in fear."
"Lovely," Perseph said, just a little irritated with Cyane's poetic dramatism. She feigned a bright smile when he shot her a look.
She glanced again at Hades and wondered if the rumors were true. It was all too easy to imagine they were; he looked so distant and foreboding, as peripheral in spirit as he was in the room. On the outside looking in. He was in a position of duality -- as a god of Olympus, he was equal in status to all the other gods save for Zeus, but his domain allowed him free reign and control, granting him power almost equal to the King of Gods himself. No wonder Zeus smiled uneasily at him as he passed.
Truth be told, if the rumors were true, Perseph saw no reason to look forward to meeting Hades. She treasured life in all its beauty -- that was her world, where she belonged, the area she specialized and exceeded in. It was not that she feared death. Death was as much a part of nature as living, and in that she saw no fault. It was the pain and suffering that she could not endure. It hurt to see others hurt. She did not resent or blame Hades for his role; it had not been a throne he could refuse. Like all other gods in this ball, he had ascended the role just as she had ascended hers, through her mother with the blessings of Zeus. The child must be heir to the parent.
It was then that Perseph realized Hades was walking towards her.
Demeter's spine seemed to straighten and stiffen with each step. Cyane attempted to step in front of Perseph but she elbowed him aside, giving him a chastening look. She was no weak coward. She needed no male to assume her fragility and seek to preserve it.
All the same, she couldn't help but shiver a little when Hades neared her. His eyes bore the intensity of the stars at midnight, and now regarded her in all his solemnity.
"My lady Persephone," he murmured, bestowing a little bow. His cloak seemed to ever swirl around him, never staying still, a thing of life.
Perseph smiled and allowed him to take her hand, although Cyane cast her a disapproving expression. Demeter's smile was false but polite; she would never voice any objections in front of this powerful god.
"Please, call me Perseph," said the daughter of nature, just as she always did to anyone who called her by her full name. "You are my lord Hades?"
"Yes." His face was sharp and hard, as if carved out of stone, every plane and angle crisp, every surface smooth. His eyes glittered in the light of the pillars. "I wish to thank you for inviting me to your ball."
Perseph wanted to say that she hadn't, that it was her mother who took care of all the invitations. But she didn't. Instead, she gave him a genuine diamond smile. "You're very welcome. I am happy you came."
Hades glanced around the room. "If that is true, then you arshe gave him a genuine diamond smile. "You're very welcome. I am happy you came."
Hades glanced around the room. "If that is true, then you are the only one." He turned back to face her. "I must take my leave now. I just thought I'd thank the guest of honor before I go."
"So soon?"
"I have things to do."
A Lord of the Underworld has a lot of responsibilities, she realized. "Of course. Well, thank you for coming."
He was still holding her by the fingers. Her stomach fluttered when he leaned down to touch his lips against the back of her hand. By the time she found her voice again, he was gone.
* * * He had stars in his cloak. In the inner folds where no one could see, where light had never struck, there were stars.
Hades stared at them, dumbfounded.
They had never been there before. He should know; he had worn that cloak ever since his ascension seven years ago. With it he had inherited the darkness, the image, the power, the intimidation, the control.
There were stars in his cloak.
Charon met him at the riverbank. "How was the ball, my lord?" he asked politely as Hades approached the jetty. The dark waters of the Styx swirled below, whirring even more at Hades's presence, and Charon stilled the boat with his staff.
"The usual," Hades replied, stepping onto the boat. "Demeter's daughter looked exceptionally well." He lifted the edges of his robe slightly so as not to get them wet, but it was more out of habit, for the edges swirled around him like the wings of a bat. Seven years should have erased the habit, but he treasured the little normal things. They had deserted him at his ascension.
Charon was staring at the cloak, stunned. "My lord," he stammered.
Hades raised his eyes to Charon's, curious. Charon was eternally solemn, quiet and expressionless. He served well in his task, ferrying dead souls over to the Underworld. He was never frazzled, riled, or upset at whatever his passengers did, which was a lot of things: rave in furious madness, beg with desparate sobs, brood in depressed moods, irritate with persistent curiosity. To see Charon with wide eyes was an event in itself.
"My lord," he whispered. "You have stars in your cloak."
Hades glanced down at the inner folds. "Yes, I noticed. I wonder why."
Charon was still staring when Hades disembarked on the other side. Cerberus greeted the god at the entrance of the Underworld, anxious and happy at his master's return. He did not seem to notice anything difference about his lord. Hades petted all three heads before vanishing within, his cloak flapping behind him.
Part II
[ Because everybody needs a fairy tale. Or needs to rewrite one. ]
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