A Touch of Ruin (Hades & Persephone #2) - Scarlett St. Clair Page 0,1
shame and more about keeping the details of his past lovers a secret. She spiraled quickly, her thoughts became turbulent, a whirlwind picking up uncertainty and doubt. How many women had Hades loved? Did he still have feelings for any of them? Had he brought them to the bed he now shared with her?
The thought made her stomach feel sour. Luckily, she was pulled from her thoughts when she spotted a group of souls standing on a pier near the river.
Persephone halted and nodded toward the crowd. “Who are they, Yuri?”
“New souls.”
“Why do they cower on the banks of the Styx?”
Of all the souls Persephone had encountered, these looked the most...dead. Their faces were drawn, and their skin ashy and pale. They clustered together, backs bent, arms cross over their chests, shivering.
“Because they are afraid,” Yuri said, her tone implied that their fear should be obvious.
“I don’t understand.”
“Most have been told the Underworld and its King are dreadful, so when they die, they do so in fear.”
Persephone hated that for a lot of reasons—mainly because the Underworld wasn’t a place to be feared, but she also found that she was frustrated with Hades, who did nothing to change the perception of his realm or himself.
“No one comforts them once they reach the gates?”
Yuri gave her a strange look, as if she didn’t understand why someone would attempt to ease or welcome newly arrived souls.
“Charon takes them across the Styx and now they must walk the road to judgement.” Yuri said. “After that, they are deposited in a place of rest or eternal torture. It is how it has always been.”
Persephone pressed her lips together, her jaw tightening with irritation. It amazed her that in one breath, they could talk about how much the Underworld had evolved, and yet still implement archaic practices. There was no reason to leave these souls without welcome or comfort. She broke free of Yuri’s hold and strolled toward the waiting group, hesitating when they continued to tremble and shrink away from her.
She smiled, hoping it might ease their anxiety.
“Hello. My name is Persephone.”
Still, the souls quaked. She should have known her name would bring no comfort. Her mother, Demeter, the Olympian Goddess of Harvest, had ensured that. Out of fear, she had kept Persephone locked in a glass prison most of her life, barring her from worship, and inevitably, from her powers.
A jumble of emotions tangled in her stomach—frustration that she could not help, sadness that she was weak, and anger that her mother had tried defying fate.
“You should show them your Divinity,” Yuri suggested. She had followed Persephone as she approached the souls.
“Why?”
“It would comfort them. Right now, you are no different than any soul in the Underworld. As a goddess, you are someone they hold in high regard.”
Persephone started to protest. These people did not know her name—how would her Divine form ease their fears?
Then Yuri added, “We worship the Divine. You will bring them hope.”
Persephone did not like her Divine form. She had a hard time feeling like a goddess before she had powers, and that hadn’t changed even when her magic flared to life, encouraged by Hades’ worship. She quickly learned it was one thing to have magic, another to use it properly. Still, it was important to her that these new souls felt welcomed in the Underworld, that they see Hades’ realm as another beginning, and most of all, she wanted to ensure they knew their king cared.
Persephone release the hold she had on her human glamour. The magic felt like silk slipping from her skin and she stood in an ethereal glow before the souls. The weight of her white kudu horns somehow felt heavier now that she was exposed in her true form. Her curly hair was brightened from a brassy gold to a pale yellow and her eyes burned an unearthly bottle-green.
She smiled at the souls again. “I am Persephone, Goddess of Spring. I am so pleased you are here.”
Their reaction to her radiance was immediate. They moved from trembling to worshipping on their knees at her feet. Persephone’s stomach hardened, and her heartbeat quickened as she shot forward.
“Oh no, please,” she knelt before one of the souls—an older woman with short, white hair and paper-thin skin. She touched her cheek and watery-blue eyes met hers.
“Please, stand with me,” she said, and helped the woman to her feet.
The other souls remained on the ground, heads lifted, eyes transfixed.