Asphodel (The Underworld Trilogy)

“None of that matters,” Hades says, changing the subject. “You’re not going anywhere.”

At the moment, I don’t feel like standing here bantering with the God of Dread. Yes, as Marisol once put it, the God of Dread. When I saw him in the field in my dream in the field he looked alive. With color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his blue-green eyes. Examining him now, his skin looks ashy and pale, like the sun hasn’t kissed his it in centuries. His hair is a dull shade of black licorice. But his eyes, they were the only thing that set him apart from looking dead all together. They were exquisite. Like sapphires and emeralds melted together.

As I peer into them, I feel like I’m looking through them. Like he’s translucent. An apparition. A spirit. I can see all of him. And there is a spark in his eyes. I can’t decide what kind of spark it is exactly, but there is a spark and that small spark gives me hope. Hope that maybe he isn’t the cold, despicable, and mysterious God he seems to be. Maybe he is capable of feeling. Capable of expressing emotion.

I inch closer, standing before him. Even though he towers over me in height, and his shadow covers my entire body, I’m determined to show no fear. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take me back right now. You don’t want to piss off Zeus, do you?”

Hades scoffs, “I’m not afraid of Zeus.” He backs away from me and leans against the fireplace, staring into the whirling flames. “And if you thought that I would be, well, then you’re an idiot.”

My jaw drops. “How dare you?” I sneer at him and huff, “You might not be afraid of him now, but if you don’t return me you will regret saying what you just said.”

He shrugs and lets out an icy laugh. “I will never fear Zeus. And in case your parents didn’t mention this; he’s the one who promised you to me in the first place.”

“He changed his mind,” I growl.

Hades stares at me. “I have no respect for God’s who go back on their word.”

None of my reverse psychology is working. I was hoping that maybe I could borrow a play from his book and use Zeus’s wrath in attempt to get him to return me, but it backfired. So I try a different approach. “Do you have children?”

He shifts his gaze to the floor and it softens. “No.” Then his gaze hardens as he looks back up at me. “What does that have to do with any of this?”

“If you don’t have children of your own then I’m sure you have no idea what it’s like for a parent when their child goes missing.”

“But you’re not missing. Your parents know exactly where you are.”

“That’s not the point!”

He circles me, staring, like he’s the madman and I’m his experiment gone awry. “Then what is the point, Persephone?” I try to come up with an answer, but as soon as I open my mouth to speak he cuts me off. “There’s no point in discussing this any further. You were meant to be mine. End of story.”

This is enrages me. I am not a prize a person covets. “I don’t belong to anybody! I belong to myself!”

Hades gives me an icy glare, and then walks out the door. I stand in my spot for a moment when it occurs to me that maybe I should be following him. Dashing out of the room, he’s so far in front of me he looks like a spec of black dust.

“Where are you going?” I shout after him.

“I’m showing you to your room!”

Sprinting, I close the distance between us. When I finally catch up to him, the rubber soles on my shoes slide against the black marble and I smack right into his back. Hades stumbles forward, catches his balance, then faces me with ferocity in his eyes and a sneer on his face. “Watch where you’re going,” he growls.

His hostile attitude hits a nerve and tears brim in my eyes. My chin quivers and I place my hand over my mouth to keep the hysterical cry stuck in my throat from spilling out. Finality hits me. I may never see my mom again. I might never feel the warm sun against my skin overheating every part of my body. I’m doomed—cursed to an eternity of the musty scent of fermented things and rotting mildew. I’ll live out my eternal life in a world filled with death and despair. I can’t. I can’t do it. So I hit my knees and exhaust my last option. “Hades, please,” I beg. “Please take me back.” An agonizing swirl of pain pumps through my heart and as I close my eyes tears spill down my cheeks. “Please,” I sob. “I’ll do anything you ask. Just take me back!”

Honestly, I don’t expect him to be sympathetic to my pleading, but I do expect him to show some sort of compassion at the sight of my tears and how much pain I’m in. He shows none. I wrap my arms around his leg, and shake uncontrollably, crying harder than I ever have before.

Hades steps forward, walking through an open doorway with me still clinging to his leg. “This is your room,” he says flatly. The he lifts his leg giving it a forceful shimmy and I release it, curling up onto the floor. I’m hysterical. I scream. Wail. Howl out and pound my fist into the cold, black marble floor.

Then it occurs to me that I’m acting like a child. Only toddlers threw temper tantrums like this and as I lift my head, I notice that Hades is gone and the door to my room is closed. Where did he go? Why did he leave me in here?

I jump up quickly, sucking back my tears, and run to the door. I twist the knob several times. “Son of a—!” He locked me in. I’m a prisoner. His prisoner. Slamming my fists into the thick wood, I shriek, “Hades! Let me out!” I resort to kicking the door. “You hear me! Let me out!”

After pounding on the door for ten minutes straight and wasting half of my energy in the process, I slide down against the back of the door and wipe away the remaining wetness that lingers on my cheeks. I’m no longer angry. I am hurt. I’ve never met someone like Hades. I’ve never met someone so…cold. This bothers me. If I saw a person begging and pleading and hysterical, seeing them like that would snap the strings to my heart. I don’t think Hades has a heart. I think his organ is surrounded by a layer of ice. An extremely thick layer of ice.

Lifting my head, I take inventory in the contents of my prison. Standin

g up, my eyes drift around the extravagant room. The flooring is black marble of course as is most of the flooring in the underground palace, but the walls are a deep shade of violet. A chandelier, similar to the one from the dining hall hangs in the center of the ceiling and the crystals shimmer in the dim lighting. And the bed is more elaborate and expansive than any bed I’ve ever seen. With a black marble frame, a king sized mattress and sheer lavender and violet linens hanging off the canopy as curtains.

My eyes shift to the left side of the room and I stroll over to a vanity. Touching the velvet cushioned bench, I gaze at the assortments of bath oils, lotions, perfumes, and make-up organized neatly on top of the vanity table.

Mom believes in living modestly, another part of the blending process. “Think about it, Persephone,” she’d said. “If we drive into a new town with flashy, expensive cars, move into the biggest house, and dress up in the latest fashion trends the first thing the mortals will do is start asking questions. Who are they? What do they do? Where did they come from? How did they get all that money?”