Developmental Editing discussion

You can post it here.

👍

The Pomegranate.
***
PERSEPHONE.

“If you were a flower,” giggles my handmaiden, “what would you be?”
I smile, plucking a bright red flower from the meadow in which we sit and adding it to the bunch I’ve gathered in my hands. “A daffodil.” I bring the flowers to my lips, inhaling their scent.
“A daffodil?!” She gasps, “but H-Hades—“ she sneezes, cutting off her nervous rant. It’s a pretty cute habit of hers if I’m being honest, her uncontrollable excited sneezing.
“He is the King of the Underworld, not the King of Flowers.” I arch my brow, waving one under her nose.
She scowls, swatting me away, “but it is his sacred flower,” she persists.
“So?”
“So,” she sneezes, “your father and his brother aren’t what could be described as being on the best of terms, my lady.”
“And since when do I care what Zeus thinks?”
Her nose quivers, eyes going wide as her gaze darts up to the sky, waiting to be struck by the king on his throne of lightning for my disrespectful insubordination.
The meadow is silent for a heartbeat, save for the distant rumble of thunder that feels more like a grumble than a threat. I let out a soft laugh, the vibration of it lost against the velvet petals of the poppies in my hand.
"See? Still breathing," I tease, nudging her shoulder with my elbow.
She doesn’t relax. In fact, she looks like she’s trying to vibrate out of her own skin. "My lady, please. No more tempting of the Fates; I can’t take it.” Her eyes water and a quiet sneeze tears from her throat.
“Oh Molpe,” I sigh, shaking my head. “If you keep that up you’ll blow all the petals off my flowers.” I rise to my feet, walking across the meadow to the edge of the small creek flowing over the jagged rocks at the edge of the forest.
“My lady!” chirps Molpe, “we mustn’t linger, her Ladyship Demeter will be expecting you home.” She chases after me, her wild curls tangled and loose.
“My mother can wait,” I turn to look at her over my shoulder, “besides, I have a request to make of you.” A smile curls my lips and I swear that she shrinks away from me.
The creek bubbles over the mossy stones, a rhythmic contrast to Molpe’s frantic, shallow breathing. She stops a few paces away, her fingers twisting the fabric of her chiton as if she’s trying to wring the anxiety right out of the silk.
“A-a request?” she stammers. Her nose twitches, a warning sign of an impending sneeze, but she suppresses it with a watery sniff. “My lady, the last time you had a request Satyrs and Maenads overran the halls of Olympus and Demeter nearly turned me into a siren.” Her eyes fill and I have to suppress a laugh in an effort to not be cruel.
“Don’t worry Molpe,” I console, “I don’t intend to invite Dionysus to my father’s next banquet.”
“You tricked him,” she sniffs. “He thought that Zeus had invited him.”
“It was just a bit of fun,” I shrug.
“It was very naughty of you,” she corrects, wiping at her eyes.
I press my bundle of flowers into her arms, taking this moment to ask for my favor.
“Bring these to my mother,” I say quietly, “tell her that I’ve gone to see Apollo and Artemis.”
“Is that the truth?” She questions, a bit of her true wit making a rare appearance.
“My mother adores the twins,” I remind her, ignoring the question. “And Apollo simply loves it when I visit, all the flowers bloom.”
“She doesn’t trust Apollo,” grumbles Molpe, but I shoo her off, waiting until she is well beyond my sight before turning and leaping across the stream, my bare feet splashing in the water as I land.
I race across the field, every step leaving behind fresh white flowers in my footprints.
I stop at the threshold of the forest, the place where the light of the heavens cannot pierce the canopy of darkly twisting branches.
My chest heaves, my light curls blowing gently in the cool breeze emanating from the deep forest.
I push a low-hanging branch aside, stepping into the shadows.
To my mother, I am her brightest flower, its petals delicate, smooth and beautiful.
To my father, I am an object to own, to control, something no one may gaze at without his permission.
To Molpe, I am a burden. Someone who could cause her death with a simple scratch.
To the world, I am life and beauty and the sweet nectar of flowers.
But to the shadows, to the darkness? I am invisible, my light cloaked within the dark. Hidden so far beyond the life of the outside world that not even the King of the Gods can find me.
I wind my way through the woods, spinning in dizzying circles as my feet carry me deeper and deeper, until I stop. My eyes widen, the sky is still obscured, but the ground is bare save for a lone, towering tree. And the familiar stranger leaning against it, a bright white flower in his scarred hand, a narcissus.
He looks up, a tempting smile curving his soft lips. Some might call his a cruel face, but I see the beauty in it, the depth.
“How far from home you’ve wandered, little goddess,” he notes, pushing off from the tree. His movements are fluid as he approaches me, the dark folds of his clothes seeming to suck the vitality from the earth. My flowers wilt, turning into dark purplish weeds.
“And how close to mine you’ve ventured,” I return, tipping my chin up as he halts just inches away from me.
“Did I?” He twirls the flower between his fingers, the stem twisting back and forth.
“Did you what?”
“Venture close to your home?”
“Well, you were close enough to watch me, weren’t you?” I grin, walking in a slow, deliberate, circle around him, my hands clasped behind my back.
His obsidian eyes track my progress, a slight lift to his lips. “You noticed?”
“How could I not? I felt your presence like the warmth of the sun.”
“The warmth of the sun?!” He scoffs, “I think the better descriptor would be the cold hand of death.”
I stop my circling directly in front of him, so close that the chill radiating from his skin makes the fine hairs on my arms stand up. It isn't the biting cold of a winter frost; it is the stillness of a deep cave, the silence after a final breath.
"Cold water feels warm to freezing hands," I murmur, reaching out, my fingers hovering just above his lips.
“Then you must be very cold indeed,” his breath is cool, but not in a terrible way. It feels…refreshing.
“Indeed…” I let my hand fall away, my eyes gazing into his. “Tell me, lord of the dead, are you cold?” My breath clouds before my eyes, the smell of damp earth and cool water far less overwhelming than the cloying scents of my mother’s garden.
He catches my wrist, his grip a firm but not crushing band of iron, cold against my sun-warmed skin.
“The dead do not feel the cold, they don’t feel anything.” He releases my wrist, attempting to step away, but I stop him.
“You aren’t dead,” I snatch at his sleeve, pulling him back. “So surely you can feel this.” I rise to the tips of my feet, closing my eyes as I kiss his cheek. A burst of electricity flows throughout my body at the touch. The King of the Dead doesn’t move, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was warmth in his cheeks. I lower back to the earth, each thump of my heart a reminder of who he is.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he breathes, his eyes clinging to the flower in his palm.
“Why? Because it would anger your brother?” I don’t release his sleeve, I can’t, for fear of him disappearing.
“Because,” he sneers, his gaze full of fire as it snaps to mine, his once kind countenance full of ire. “I will not be used for your fruitless rebellion anymore, little goddess. My brother is your father and the king, I will not be used.” He rips away from my touch, but still he does not harm me. “Do not return again daughter of Demeter, for I will not.”
I reach for him just as he fades, the ground swallowing him whole. “Wait!”
My voice cracks, my words a futile call for him.
“I— I wasn’t…” a silence far heavier than any crown on my father’s head fills the forest, a silence far darker than the deepest shadow. I let myself fall, my knees thumping in the dirt, my eyesight blurring with unshed tears as a lone white flower flutters down next to me.
The first time I met Hades, he was hidden behind a tree I was never supposed to see; he frightened me.
But at some point, between one secret encounter and the next, he didn’t.
I saw him on the outskirts of revels, his aspect one of complete and utter annoyance. My father didn’t know, he never would have allowed our speaking let alone whatever it was that I had hoped for between us. He was cold and distant, but he was also strikingly honest….beautiful. Beautiful in a way that wasn’t perfectly vibrant flowers. He was different than all the rest who dwelled on Olympus. He was temperamental, and he wasn’t what you would call kind, but he didn’t treat me like a flower. And he never tried to touch me, he hardly courted me, he just…talked.
***

HADES.

The underworld feels desolate in a way it hasn’t before, my throne, my palace, my kingdom, all cold and hollow. Her laugh fills my ears, her breath penetrates my lungs, her eyes haunt my vision, her touch burns within my skin. She who has damned me to this insufferable pain is a cruel vixen, a ravenous mistress set on destroying my sanity.
I slump deep within my throne, her very memory causing turmoil within my soul so great that even the fates would fear it. I curse her, I curse her for her kindness and her naivety, I curse her for her brilliance and her beauty, I curse her very existence. For all it does is remind me of my solitude. But mostly, I curse her for her games. I was content to be her companion, I was content to watch her from afar, to speak to her in fleeting moments of secrecy. I was content to hold her in my heart knowing she would never hold me, but she has ruined it. Not even I can brush off this slight, this grave sin. Not even I can endure the suffocation of being used to anger my brother. Not even I…can allow her to pretend to care for me while I pine for her nearness…her lips on mine.
I clench my fist, squeezing until I draw ichor. Liquid gold leaks from between my fingers, splashing onto the onyx floor.
Plip, plop, plip, plop.
A cruel, twisted smile curls my lip, would she find beauty in this? Would she dare to touch something so vile and vicious? No, because hers is an act, a ploy. Something to bring her amusement until it doesn’t.
Curse the day I ever laid eyes upon the little flower goddess. Curse the day I allowed her to lay eyes on me.
The silence of the Underworld is usually a comfort—a steady, rhythmic hum of souls drifting toward The Lethe. But today, the silence is jagged. It scrapes against the inside of my skull.
I look down at the smear of gold ichor on the black stone. It does not look like a flower. It looks like a wound.
"My Lord?"
I close my eyes, a headache already forming within my skull. Perhaps a second Athena will burst forth, I’m sure that would enrage Zeus beyond measure.
“Thanatos,” I grumble, “here to bring me news of another of my brother’s dead lovers?”
Thanatos stands at the edge of the dais, his wings tucked tightly against his back like a funeral shroud.
“No, my lord, I am here to inform you of your invitation to an upcoming revelry atop Olympus.” He bows deeply, but not fearfully. No, death fears no one, not even his master. If only his identical counterpart was the same, but alas, love evades my grasp. Flitting just out of my reach, taunting me with whispered words of desire.
“An invitation," I repeat, the word tasting like ash. I let out a sharp, jagged laugh that echoes through the rib-like arches of the throne room. “And tell me, why is this greatest of celebrations being thrown? Who might the guest of honor be? For it surely cannot be the King of the Gloom.”
“It is the Maiden of Spring, my lord.”
Persephone. I look down to the pool of gold at my feet, a strange thought filling my head.
“Shall I inform them of your expected absence?” questions Thanatos, an odd tilt to his head, like he can indeed see straight through my words.
“No,” my voice is thunderous, a silent roar as I raise my eyes. I will not be used, but neither will I discard her— not yet. “Prepare my chariot,” I order, the pain behind my eyes finally dissipating, “if my presence is what they desire, then they shall have it.”
***
PERSEPHONE.

A revel to dwarf all others held in my honor, I should be grateful. I should bow before my father and utter sweet words of thanks. But this celebration feels like a cold hand around my throat, a hand that is truly dead, a touch that could never be kind or warm or soft.
It has been a mere week since Hades cast me away for my slight against him, since I used him to anger my godly parents. Since he refused to entertain the idea that perhaps my actions were genuine, that perhaps I was genuine.
He told me not to return, he said that he would not… so he won’t appear to partake in the festivities, and he won’t hold me as I dance.
Eros is a cruel being, to strike in my heart a yearning that Hades does not return. To feel my flowers rot in his absence and bloom in his cold.
I cannot endure this punishment, surely it will not last, surely my heart will flutter free.
For I am young, I know not the horrors of war or the cost of death. I am, as he says, a little goddess. One far beneath him, one whom he would not want, would not touch, and would not hold.
One belonging to another world entirely.
“Persephone!” My mother’s booming voice forces my eyes open, a sigh escaping my lips as I roll over in my plush bedding, the warmth of Olympus doing nothing to quell the biting cold within.
“Yes, mother?”
“Get dressed,” she orders, entering my room in a flurry of bright light and anxious smiles. “Your father has invited all the gods and nymphs, both large and small, you must look stunning.” She drapes a long, light gray chiton with shining gold embroidery and bright red flowers decorating the edges across my bed.
“He invited all of the gods?” I question, rising up to peer at my mother with her long golden hair that shimmers like a field of bright wheat.
“Yes darling,” she beams, “every spirit of the divine will come to greet you.”

***
The Great Hall of Olympus is a riot of gold and ivory. Music from Apollo’s lyre weaves through the air, so perfect it’s almost painful. Every minor deity, every nymph from the highest peak to the lowest valley, is here to press their lips to my hand and offer praise I don’t want.
"Smile, daughter," my father’s voice booms, his hand heavy on my shoulder. Zeus smells of ozone and arrogance. "This is your night. Look at them all—here for you."
I scan the crowd, my heart a frantic bird against the bars of its cage. I see Ares laughing over a goblet of wine; I see Aphrodite watching her reflection in a silver platter. But the one face I seek is missing. The air is too warm. The light is too bright.
Then, the temperature drops.
Voices quiet, the halls dim, my father’s grip tightens.
“Hades,” he bellows, retaking his throne upon the dais. “What a welcome surprise.” The doors open with a bang, and he stands on the threshold, clad in a black so deep that even Nyx would envy it.
His footsteps echo on the stone, his eyes endless pits of destruction, his eyes locked on mine.
“Brother,” he greets, “I thank you for this generous invitation to the celebration of our fair Lady of Spring.” He bows deeply, but there’s something almost mocking in it, almost taunting.
Zeus smiles but it doesn’t reach the stormy blue eyes we share.
“And tell me,” his lip curls as he speaks, “what calls forth the King of the Dead from his gloom beneath the earth?”
Hades raises his head, a dark grin in place as he openly looks to me. “The beautiful daughter of the harvest, of course.”
The gods gathered in the vast hall begin to whisper, their murmurs inaudible over the roiling thunder of the clouds above. Zeus’s fists clench, his grip on his throne turning crushing.
“What an honor for my daughter,” he manages through clenched teeth, “we thank you.”
Hades nods, stepping forward and bowing to me in a way that is anything but mocking. He plants a chilling kiss on my hand, his touch lingering as he straightens.
“Forgive me if I am mistaken,” he begins, addressing me, “but you have yet to share your first dance of the night, have you not?”
“You are not mistaken,” I answer, my eyes locked on his even as my mother’s nails dig in like the vicious claws of the furies.
“Then, may I be granted the honor of this dance?” There’s a challenge in the question, an inquiring defiance in his words, a test that I intend to pass.
“You may,” I take his hand, allowing him to lead me away from my mother’s firm hold and my father’s stormy glare. I will be punished for this defiance of Zeus’s silent command, Hades knows this.
“That was foolish of you, little goddess,” he whispers. Apollo begins to play a slow, sorrowfully lilting tune unlike any I’ve heard before.
“Then why did you ask?”
As we move, the vibrant colors of the Great Hall seem to bleed into the periphery, leaving only the two of us in a circle of deepening twilight.
"Because," Hades murmurs, his hand on my waist feeling like a brand of ice that I never want to remove, “I wanted to see how far you were willing to take your little game of rebellion.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Aren’t you?” He lifts me into the air, the movement so graceful it pulls a few gasps from the gathered audience.
“I am not,” my voice is steady though my bones feel weak, “I never was, not for a moment.”
He leans in, his voice a low rumble of hidden desire. “Well perhaps you should have been.”
“Would that have made it easier?” I question as he spins me, my gray dress fanning out like the turbulent storm brewing above. “Easier to leave me? To never return?”
“Yes,” he breathes, “but I have broken my vow.”
“Why?” My breath catches and I can’t look away, the rising of Apollo’s music seeming to mirror chaos within my heart. “Why did you come, Hades?”
His chilling breath brushes my ear as we begin to speed up, twisting and turning, our steps in sync. “Because I could not stay away, because it seems that even my pride would kneel before you my Lady of The Rose.” The music reaches a crescendo, a deafening roar, but all I hear is his breath.
“Is that what I am?” I lean in to him this time, perfectly aware of the many eyes on us. “Am I yours?”
“Do you wish to be?”
“More than you know.” The music halts in a tantalizing finale and so do we. Hades dips me, my back arched in his grip, my head hanging so low that my hair grazes the floor. His hand grips the curve of my calf, our eyes lock as his touch quickens my pulse.
My chest heaves and there’s a silence before the storm.
The crowd erupts, they stomp their feet, clapping and cheering.
Hades lifts me, his hand remaining on the small of my back as he leads me back to my parents.
“What a lovely display of familial devotion,” booms my father, the perfect mask of a doting father.
“Indeed,” agrees Hades, “but I believe the Lady of the Hour has many other suitors awaiting their chance to admire such beauty.” He bows to me, his hand leaving my back and letting in a swift, relentless cold that I didn’t know I could feel so profoundly.
I watch him as he leaves, shadows enveloping his frame.
My mother’s grip on my arm alerts me to my reality, her eyes promising a reckoning to come— but not yet, not before I have lived my hour in the limelight of my father’s revelry.

***
The revelry ended as it began, with a quiet sort of obedience. One where I danced with my mother’s suitors, where I laughed with Apollo, feigning a lightness I did not feel.
It ended and for a moment I was free, until I felt my mother’s presence. Demeter locked me in a dark room hidden in Zeus’s palace, a single window overlooking a balcony to provide me with light.
I lay on my bed, the light fading from the sky, closing my eyes as I pictured Hades. His dark eyes and darker hair, his smooth skin, the way I’m sure his thick locks must feel like silk between your fingers.
My eyes flutter open as a strange slithering sound fills my chambers, I sit up, crawling to the edge of my bed.
“Hello?” I call.
An answering hiss emanates from the balcony, I raise my eyes, a smile curving my lips.
A pitch black snake with scales that reflect the light of the moon like lightning clings to the balcony.
“Hades,” I grin, slipping from my bed.
***
HADES.

I pace the halls of my obsidian palace, the crown of Stygian iron upon my brow weighing down the conflicting thoughts circulating within my mind.
She was supposed to refuse me. Prove that hers was a game that had limits, prove that she did not care for me as I cared for her.
My heart beats in a way that feels alive, a way that feels impossible.
I slow to a halt, my skin feeling flushed for the first time since the beginning of a life I can barely recall.
When I close my eyes, I see her grace and her splendor, the way she dances with a stunning hold on the life that flies so freely from her veins.
Persephone, the lady of the roses, the Maiden of Spring…the embodiment of a queen.
“My lord!” Thanatos bursts into the hall, a terrible panic etched on his brow, a panic that ignites my own.
“Speak,” I command.
“It is the daughter of Demeter, she is in peril,” he gasps.
A storm far fiercer than any my brother has summoned overtakes my senses, leaving no room for thought or hesitation.
***
PERSEPHONE.

I reach for the snake, the tips of my fingers just barely grazing its sleek scales. Lightning jumps into my skin at the contact, traveling down my spine. I jump back, cradling my hand.
“Get— get away!” I cry, scrambling onto my bed, a scream building in my throat.
The snake rears its head up, its black eyes flashing with a raging storm of lightning and kingly fury, it rises until it towers over me, it’s black scales morphing into skin. Growing and shifting until Zeus stands in its place.
“No, no!” I struggle off the bed but he catches my ankle, pulling me back. I kick out, fear driving my strength until I am free. I race to the door, banging on the wood.
“Help!” I scream, raging against the locked doors, “help! Mother! Mother!” My throat burns as Zeus grabs me by my hair, flinging me onto the bed.
“You dare to disobey me,” he growls, “dare to humiliate me before all my subjects. This will not go unpunished, daughter.” He pins my hands over my head, the pain of his grip cutting into my flesh.
“No!” I sob, struggling pointlessly against him, “father, please.”
He looks down at me, his eyes two pits of rage, far colder than Hades could ever be.
“You forget,” his face hovers above mine, tears traveling down my cheeks as my strength leaves me. “I am your king, your maker, and your father. You, are mine.”
His hands circle my throat, his fingers digging in, choking the air from my lungs.
Immortal beings cannot die. We don’t require air to live…but that doesn’t stop the pain of suffocating.
My vision starts to darken, the weight of Zeus pinning me to the bed, trapping me in his sickening hold.
Is this what Demeter felt? Or Io? Or Leda? Danaë? Callisto? Semele? Nemesis? Rhea? Europa?…Hera?
My eyes close, and then it’s gone, replaced by a familiar cold.
The roaring dies, displaced by a silence so profound that even the King of the Gods living in the clouds cannot penetrate it.
Zeus is thrown back, slamming into the stone wall of my chambers, the resounding crack so loud it feels as though it should crush the foundation of Olympus.
“Brother,” Hades steps forward as I roll onto my stomach, gasping as air slowly returns to my body. “You have violated something I thought even you knew not to.”
“TRAITORRRRR!!!!” He roars, “how dare you reprimand me! She is mine and you are a vile serpent belonging only in the pits!” Spittle flies from his lips as shadows wrap around his arms and legs, holding him in place.
“A serpent?” Hades scoffs, “I believe it is you who is the vile serpent. You who is the trespasser. You dare to call yourself her father? You have no right to claim her for she is the spring, and she cannot be tamed.”
Hades eyes spark with a depthless fury, a cold, unforgiving death that promises an end even for the endless. He flicks his wrist and Zeus disappears without a word, fading as though he was never there.
Hades turns to me, and his eyes soften.
“Are you, are you alright?” He asks, his hand reaching, but hesitant.
“No,” I breathe, standing from the bed and stepping into his circle of cold, letting it cool my feverish skin as I wrap my arms around him. “But I will be.” His arms envelope me, his touch a calming balm to my thrashing heart.
“I have to go,” he says, his voice muffled and sad, “I do not belong in the light of the sun, and Zeus is a vengeful villain.”
“Then take me with you,” I look up, tracing my finger along his cheekbone. “And let me live in the dark where the light cannot pierce.”
“You need the light to grow.” He gently covers my hand with his own, pulling it down with a sorrowful gaze.
“You underestimate my resilience,” I step closer, pressing my chest flush against his. “You underestimate the light I hold within.”
He closes his eyes, letting our brows touch. “I don’t want to be your jailer, Persephone.”
“You won’t be,” I insist.
“You say that, but—“ his voice cracks, the lord of the dead opening his eyes to gaze at me with a longing so great it could cleave the world in two. “What happens when you grow weary of the cold? When you long for the warmth of summer, when you look at me and curse the day we met?”
“I would never.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” I argue, “and one day I will prove it to you.”
“How?”
I smile, a wicked pull to my lips, a taunting trick meant to keep him here, with me. “By showing you just how much I’m willing to give you,” I pull his lips down to my own, my arms hooked around his neck. “By showing you,” I whisper, our lips just barely touching. “That this is no game of gods to me. That I know what my actions do. That I don’t want a gilded palace in the sun, I just want the person who sees me. Not the spring incarnate, and not the prize flower in a garden. But just…me. With all my faults and deceptions, and all my dreams and hopes.”
“And how do you know that I see you?”
“Because you are the only person who has ever let me choose.” I close my lips over his, capturing whatever he may have said, and letting him lift me into his arms.
He lays me carefully atop the covers of my bed, his thumb traces my jaw, his touch like a drug I can’t give up, as sweet as nectar with just a hint of something bitter.
My breath catches as the pad of his thumb brushes against my lips.
I can’t breathe.
He leans down and I tilt my head up, but he doesn’t kiss me.
His cheek grazes mine, sending little waves of shock through me.
I know my face is flushed, know my heart is beating erratically.
And I know that in this moment, I would let him do anything he wanted. That in this moment, I am at his mercy. My fate held in his hands.
“Persephone,” he murmurs. When he says my name, it sounds like a prayer. Like the name itself is sacred to him. The way he says it makes me feel like it’s something that shouldn’t be witnessed, but at the same time, it’s intoxicating. “Are you sure?”
I nod, closing my eyes as he bends to kiss my neck, my arms wrapping around him, clinging to him.
I feel him smile in way that’s different from his usual almost-smiles. It’s the kind of smile that would haunt a poet’s dreams, the words to describe it escaping them. It’s the kind of smile that an artist would long to capture.
Describing it as beautiful would be an insult to its radiance.
He pulls back and I gaze at him, a terrible longing etched across his normally solemn features.
He is the one thing I shouldn’t want for so many reasons— and yet, he is the only thing I want, the only thing I need.
His dark eyes gaze into mine and a thousand silent words pass between us.
I rise up, my hands on his shoulders as our lips just barely touch.
There’s a moment, a heartbeat, when time stops. And in the span of that heartbeat, I know with perfect clarity that even if everything between us breaks, even if my life is brought to ruin by his touch, even if I lose everything…I would do it again.
If I had a choice, if I could go back, I would do it all over again.
I would take his hand in mine and walk off the cliff that everyone else is scared to face.
And I would smile, because loving him is worth it.
Being loved by him is worth it. Being seen by him is worth it.
He is the one thing I can never give up, the one person I will always come back to.
He looks at me, his eyes dark pools of midnight, and then he kisses me.
A gasp escapes me and he smiles, a hint of mischief that makes him glow with something brighter than the sun.
“Do you believe me yet?” I whisper.
“Perhaps,” he leans down, his lips covering my own.
No other god, and no mere mortal could do to me what he does, could love me the way he does.
His enchanting cold encircles me as one hand holds my waist and the other cups my cheek.
He is the ending I choose, the ending I want.
So let this ruin us and let them condemn us. I would welcome it all as long as he held me in his arms.

***
HADES.

Somehow, she warms me. I hold her in the early morning light shining through the window, her flaxen locks splayed out on the pillow, her soft lips a light pink, her cheeks tinged with color and her eyes closed in sleep. She curls into my embrace, her brow grazing the hollow of my chest.
She asked me if I believed her, and how could I not. She looks at me like I hold all the stars in the night sky, like my darkness is something more than biting, something she would choose to hold.
My light queen of the dark, how you’ve broken me and my life of solitude.
I close my eyes, letting her lull me back into a sweet sleep.
Her eyes flash open as the doors to her chamber are torn from their hinges with a bang, a terrible scream filling the room.
We bolt upright almost in unison, the quilt covering her bed clutched against her chest as she stares wide-eyed at Demeter in a golden fury.
Demeter descends, her sickle moving freely through the air as roots burst forth from the mattress, wrapping around my arms and yanking me from the bed.
Persephone screams, reaching for me, but handmaidens enter through the desecrated archway, restraining her as she struggles.
“Mother!” She cries, “mother please! Don’t hurt him, mother!!” Her pleas are cut off as a gag of pure gold is forced into her mouth.
Demeter stares me down, a righteous fury in her every movement.
The roots tighten but I don’t fight it, I will not prove to be the monster my sister believes I am.
“Take her,” orders Demeter, her volatile eyes still narrowed on me.
Persephone’s muffled screams and struggling slowly fades as the handmaidens force her away.
“You’re disgusting, brother,” she spits, tipping my face up with a harsh grip. “A violent, predatory beast.”
“You seem more beast than I,” I raise my brows, nodding to the destruction of the room. “I saved your most beloved daughter and you call me a predator.”
“She’s a child!” She bellows, the roots tightening, drawing gold ichor from my skin. The essence of my divinity trickles down my bare skin, gathering on the roots holding me and sizzling as it burns through them.
“She is a goddess, she is ageless and far more wise than you would like to acknowledge.”
“You saved her from nothing! You destroyed her honor, her purity!” She rages, beginning to pace before me.
“I saved her from your defiler,” I say calmly, “I saved her from your fate.”
She stops, turning to me not with an expression of disbelief, but one of horrible knowing. “How— how could he,” her eyes water, shock and rage and grief over her realization causing the roots to slacken.
“Because he is the king,” I offer quietly, “and he will not be denied.”
She slumps onto the bed, a silent groan leaving her. “I tried so hard,” she mutters, “I tried so hard to keep her safe, and still—“ she looks up, her glare returned. “You are just the same as him,” she whispers, “just as guilty and just as horrible. You will NOT touch her again.” She flicks her hand and the roots spread, wrapping around me again and again until I am mummified.
I hear her footsteps disappear in a rage. She may hate me, but she despises him more, no matter what she might say.
I close my eyes, allowing the earth to swallow me whole.
***

***
PERSEPHONE.

My heels click in the long, echoing hall, my gait far outpacing the handmaidens chasing after me.
I hear their murmured voices long before the gilded double doors come into view, my lavender dress fluttering around me.
After Demeter caught him in my bed, she locked me in new, reinforced chambers, blocked from all of the outside world.
At first I raged against it, cried and roared, but my pleas fell on deaf ears and I could not bring myself to harm those who restrained me.
So I sat, and I did not speak. I let them dress me, paint me, and brush my hair. I was quiet and obedient, waiting until the doors finally opened.
And now they have.
I don’t pause as I face the doors with their etchings of gold lightning. I raise my hands, my palms up, and the doors open, almost bursting off their hinges as I fling them aside to reveal a room full of angry, cruel gods. The Olympian pantheon, the great twelve.
“Zeus,” my voice echoes in the silence, the storm in my eyes fit to topple his kingdom. “Release me!”
He smiles, a cruel twisted smile, mirroring his expression from when I last saw him.
“Why daughter,” he muses, stroking his beard. “You are free to leave whenever you see fit.”
“I am not,” I argue, glowering up at the king on his throne, flanked by the twelve deities who would like to imagine themselves to be the most powerful in the cosmos. “I never have been.”
“Oh but you are,” he laughs, the sound vibrating under my skin like a terrible memory that even the River Lethe cannot erase. “You may leave Olympus and journey to the depths, but you will not see your foolish love.”
A cold, hard knot forms in the pit of my stomach, a knot that speeds my heart and wraps its claws around my throat.
“What have you done?” I demand, willing my voice not to quiver.
“Nothing,” he shrugs, his foul lips curling. “Nothing at all dear Persephone, it was Hades, not I.”
“Lies,” I spit.
“Oh, I’m afraid not,” he leers, “I made a deal, you see, your freedom and safety for his obedience. His fealty.” His eyes shine with an oily sort of triumph, a vile sort of pleasure.
“No,” I breathe, “NO!!!”
“Yes,” he snarls, “I have ordered him to never lay his filthy eyes upon you again, to never touch you, to never even think of you. And to never, ever, allow you past his gates.”
“NO!” I roar, my body burning with a fury that wilts the flowers around me, that crumbles the stone beneath my feet. “Undo it,” I hiss.
He leans forward in his throne, looking down at me from his place on the dais. “I do not take orders from women with crowns made of flowers.”
I look up, letting everything out. “Then prepare for your reckoning.”
“My reckoning?!” He scoffs, urging the other gods to join him in his mockery of me.
I ignore their laughter, staring each of them down in turn. “Until you bring him back,” I begin, my voice heard even over the cacophony of cruel jests at my expense. “You will never smell the sweet scent of a flower, never lie in the warm grass of a soft meadow. The fields will die, the fruits will rot. Life will decay and the blame will lie with you.”
“You cannot,” he growls, “you are a mere goddess of weeds. You are nothing.”
A small, violent smile pulls at my lips. “I am life,” I counter, “where I walk flowers bloom.” I step forward, pulling the vibrancy from the flowers and vines hanging in the chamber, letting them die. “I am more than you will ever be, little king, for I can take what I give with less than a thought. My footsteps will leave in their wake a poisonous death that will not be cured, not even by my mother, for she is the harvest but I am the growth.” I stop, almost standing on equal footing with him, gazing up into his eyes with an intent that will not be thwarted. “I swear it on the River Styx.” There’s quiet, and then there’s chaos.
Zeus roars, the other gods cry in furious disbelieving panic, the sky darkens, but my mother remains seated, her stillness a testament to her turmoil. I lock eyes with her before turning on my heel, my footsteps slow as the marble under my stride darkens, the rot spreading as I leave.
He is the King of Lightning, but I am the goddess of life, holding both sides of the coin in my palm, for there is no life without death.
***
“You play a dangerous game, niece.” I turn to find Hera, Queen of the Gods and wife to the serpent, standing on the threshold of my room.
“What I play is no game,” I inform her, waiting for the threat she must be here to deliver.
“Of course it is,” she scoffs, entering the room. “You play a game of revenge. Revenge for your imprisonment, revenge for lack of choice,” she raises a brow, daring me to defy her analysis. “But mostly, yours is a game of revenge for the tyranny of your father.”
She knows, of course she knows.
I gaze at her, searching her countenance for the look of condescension they all seem to peer at me with. “Are you ordering me to stop playing?” I challenge.
Her light eyes lock with mine, a smile playing on her lips, one with a small, bitter twist to it. “No, I’m telling you to win….to beat him, and revenge us all.”
She turns, walking away without another word.
I face the window, watching as the green fades from the world below.
My revenge will be slow and torturous…and he will feel my rage as the earth bleeds my soul.

***
THE HANDMAIDEN.

My lady was true to her word, the life on Olympus died within hours of her proclamation. And soon, it wasn’t just the plants, the gods and spirits grew tired, some even ill, for they found they had a heavy weight on their chest that would not lessen. The rot spread, poisoning the air until there was no reprieve.
The earth of mortals was plagued as well, their crops died, the grass withered. They starved.
The gods tried everything to heal it, to banish the frost that had set in. Zeus ordered Apollo to warm the soil, to heal the land, but he could not.
Demeter’s crops would not grow, Dionysus’s vines would not flourish, and soon, Pan’s forests began to wither away.
The gods began to beg her to return life to their existence, but she had sworn on the River Styx, so they turned to Zeus, and she was left on her own. Her hair lost its luster, her eyes lost their glow, she sat alone, her heart heavy as she left everything to die. She did not eat, only waited and sobbed.
Soon a sleep set in, and many feared she would not be roused, many feared that she would die and that the life they had taken for granted for a millennia would follow her into the void.
They pleaded to Zeus, for they were suffering, for a seemingly eternal winter had set in and they could bear it no longer. He denied them at first, his pride prevented him. But soon, even he began to see it— the damage his child had reaped.
And so he called Hades, and a new deal was struck, one that could not be undone.
The gods waited in silence, their energy drained. The gods wait still.
And I, Molpe, cannot wait with them, for I am to blame. For I was supposed to watch her, and I failed. She fell into the trap of desire under my care, she intertwined herself with Hades, and they needed someone to blame. Someone to shoulder the burden.
Persephone’s handmaidens are no more, all that remains are the monstrous beasts known as Sirens.
***

HADES.

I found her in a shadowed chamber, gazing through the large, lonely round window, her gaze raking across the cursed land, her arms wrapped around herself.
She turns, just barely looking over her shoulder. She looks different, less vibrant, but no less beautiful. She still manages to steal my stagnant breath from my lungs.
“Have you come, King Of The Dead, or is this just another dream?”
“I have come,” I rasp, “I have come, little goddess.”
She closes her eyes, and she smiles. When she opens them, they seem to bloom, an impossibly vibrant hue of blue.
“Tell me,” she whispers, “is this to be a farewell, or are you perhaps ready to believe me? Ready to hold my warmth and accept my touch?” She steps closer, her fingers dancing across my chest. My eyes widen as I truly look at her, her skin has lost its glow, when I touch it, it is as cold as my own. There are hollows in her cheeks, they have lost their color.
“What has happened to my Lady of The Roses?” I cup her face, she feels so frail, so weak. But she is not, I can see it in her, the pain she has suffered to bring about this eternal death.
“She has let the flowers weep,” she answers, turning her cheek into my palm, closing her eyes once more. “She has brought about the decay of life.”
“Then let it bloom once more,” I urge.
“No,” she whispers, “I will not, not until I am free to be where I choose, not until I am free to be with you.”
“You are free,” I insist.
“Are you?” She asks.
I nod, reaching into the fold of my cloak to retrieve a bright, red, leathery fruit. “I have struck a new deal, half the year with me, half the year with them…if you choose it.” I press the fruit into her hands, closing her fingers around it.
She raises her face, her eyes searching my. “I choose it,” she chokes, relief flooding through her.
She digs her nails into the skin, tearing it open. The bright juice spills out like blood from a wound as she swallows seed after seed.
Six in total, she looks up to me and there is once again a bright flush to her skin.
The half-eaten fruit falls to the ground with a thud, and she wraps her arms around me, a sob escaping her lips as vines and flowers sprout from the marble, healing the dark rifts.
***
Where she walks, hauntingly pale flowers sprout, even in the world beneath the earth. The soil of the damned is not immune to her touch. She walks like the queen she was born to be. Unafraid, unrestrained, and unyielding.
I stand upon the dark dais as she approaches, the hordes of Hades parting for her, the Furies standing in the front, Thanatos watching from the side. The land of the cursed has paused its movement for the coronation of its Queen.
She ascends the dais, taking my hand without hesitation as I offer it.
She turns and I bow as she sits. I kneel before her, and the feared souls of hell follow suit. She crosses her sculpted legs, her hands resting on the arms of a throne that for too long has been a symbol of my solitude.
She turns to me, and I rise, a smile gracing my lips. She looks at me, and I feel seen, not feared.
I lean against the throne, and slowly, the gathered audience rises to gaze at their Queen.
She is beautiful, her hair bright and flowing even in the gloom. The crown of her light curls threaded through with dark thorns and white, pure asphodels.
“Hades?” She murmurs, her eyes on the land that is now hers.
“Yes, my Queen?”
She smiles, its beauty a teasing glimpse of her radiance. “Tell me, are you still cold?”
She turns to me, and I tilt her chin up, grinning as I bend down to kiss her. “No, my Queen, I am not.”
“Good,” she breathes, and we both look out to the vast lands of shadow, never to be alone again.

I read it once, here are my thoughts:

The beginning is very good, it opens with introducing the character, and developing her. From the very beginning we get a very good idea of who Persephone is, and that is exactly how a book should start.
Your prose are beautiful, clearly you can write and I enjoyed reading it.
Persephone was well developed, she had agency, a personality and was consistent, however my opinion is that you didn't give that same care to Hades, when he talked to Persephone he seemed like a different person than when we were in his head. Adding on that, his only personality trait seemed to be his obsession with her.
I felt like you could have made the character's emotions a little bit more subtle at some points, this story is short so that may not matter much but it's something to consider.
The story was very short and very fast paced, that's not necessarily bad, however it might make more interesting if you added in a few scenes that weren't romantic, to slow the pace slightly.

Firstly, I would like to thank you for reading this through and for your honesty.

I sincerely appreciate both your constructive and your positive feedback because I hope to grow as a writer, and re-reading it now with your critiques in mind I can definitely see your points.


It’s clear that Hades could use a bit more work💀

I'm glad I could help, and your writing really is very good. I hope editing other people's work will help me spot issues with my own book.

I’m flattered that you think so and I hope that this does end up helping with working on your own project!😉
(I’ve read a lot about it and it seems like a very promising book)

Thank you.

And the MMC being underdeveloped aside from his love for the FMC is a problem I've seen not only in published books, but in bestselling books too.

Yeah it’s definitely a common mistake to make when writing a romantic fiction/fantasy book, but I’m hoping that now that I’m more of aware of doing it, I won’t repeat that particular oversight.

Esoteric
the first page
Haven pressed herself closer to the tree. Breathing hard she looked over her shoulder at the cloaked figure that was approaching the house. She had to get back inside without being seen. Turning back she decided to risk a quick whistle.
At the sound, her beige Pegasus peeked out of the bushes. Haven beckoned her forward and reached out a hand to her nose.
"Myth" she said, urgently "Myth, you have to go." Myth nickered softly and stepped forward to press her forehead to Havens.
"May you be safe, my friend" Haven said softly "Until tomorrow"
Haven watched her canter away into the night, until she could no longer see her through the bushes. Myth would wait until she was well out of view to start flying. If anyone saw her they would more than likely capture her and take her to their so called "sanctuary" where they kept every animal they could possibly find, to maintain control over the populations. As if they could ever keep tabs on that Haven thought. Any rogue animal was a threat to that said control.
Moving carefully, Haven crept towards the house. Considering that she wasn't even supposed to be out right now Haven stayed clear of the windows, until she got to the one from which she got out. As silently as possible, she opened it, wincing when it squeaked. Carefully she stepped over it and into the house, and moved toward the kitchen.
"Where have you been, slave?" A sharp voice demanded from behind her. Haven turned to face her head supervisor, a tall slender woman with graying hair, who was glaring at her from the dining room doorway.

When do you think you'll have it done?

Do you want me to edit it?

Yes, please!

What kind of editing do you want. If you fill out the thing in the into page I can make you your own topic and I'll edit it today.

got it thanks!