Chapter 3 – A Dead Man’s World (1)

‘Please forgive me.’

Coming to realize she couldn’t get away from the island, Persephone wallowed in despair. Her heart pricked at her chest, thinking that this is what Prometheus must’ve felt when he was tied up in the Caucasus Mountains, where his insides were gnawed apart by an eagle. She felt so helpless, circling around the island, which was small enough to be sauntered about in just a day. She could hear the island talking to her as if in mocking, telling her that she would stay here forever, and that she would die in her wrath.

This was the symbolism of her mother’s love, Demeter. The only love Persephone knew about in her entire life, caging her in this remote island where civilization was out of reach. The only person that loves her is her mother.

It was purely a coincidence when she stumbled upon ‘that thing’ one night, when the sky was pitch-black, stretching endlessly over the horizon.

Lying on her bed late at night, her mind kept her awake, thinking about the daffodil she saw earlier at the edge of the cliff. She went out, making sure the nymphs didn’t see her, and headed straight to the shore. She avoided the light of the thousand blinking stars, and saw a firefly dashing fiercely over the cliff.

Everything on the island was hers to take, even the fireflies. She leaned close to where the firefly was floating at, and scooped the firefly with her palms. Still lighting and glowing, Persephone used the firefly to light her way going deep into the pit. She reached the very depths of the cave after a short while, and arrived at the dead end.

And there it was. A door she had never seen before. It stood there like it had always been there, like it’s an integral part of the cave.

“What is this door?” Persephone muttered, white hand pushing Pandora’s door open.

It was a paradise beyond words for Persephone, who had always been dreaming of a place outside the island. The sight enthralled her breathless, even if it was a door leading to the underworld.

Unusual things happened during Hekate’s night; a lapse in time that is indescribable. The goddess’ power stretched from the end of the horizons, down to worlds that were not entirely visible.

*

Thick fog encompassed her on all sides. The moon hung above the clouds, glowing a bright yellow against the darkness. Persephone, who was taking in her surroundings, stood up. She was right in the middle of the forest, where the mist was overwhelmingly heavy, and only the minute sounds of the wind blowing and the steady flow of the bustling river could be heard within earshot.

She wound her cloak tightly to her body, and walked in light footsteps. She glanced around her as she went on her trek until the space turned clearer and clearer, leaving the cloudy haze behind her, and stood in front of a vast body of water.

It was the Acheron River— the underworld.

Several meters away from where she was, the dead were standing on the dock, the mist silhouetting them from view. They were brought to that spot by Hermes the night before. All of them bore matching, somber faces as they rummaged through their pockets.

“I’ll stone you to death, you bastard.”

“Care to explain why you never had a husband? I plan to offer some psadista to Ancient Greece’s god of death, especially to Elysion…”

“She had always been full of coins, but why is she still so worthless?”

“I was hit by a horse, how about you?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be a plentiful harvest this coming fall, but I’m already short in supplies. I’ll make her pay. You’ll see.”

Persephone heard them in conversation as she neared closer. She put her hood up as she bowed her head low, taking her place at the end of the line.

With the surroundings heavily laden with mist, one wouldn’t be able to see that those people who are waiting on the dock didn’t cast any more shadows. Dead people were void of it.

But Persephone was different. She was a goddess, and goddesses were immortal. The dead didn’t feel the bitter cold, their blue skins withstanding the chill air, but Persephone trembled shakily.

After a short while, a strange looking boat that was covered in cowhide stopped in front of the dock, the current of water hitting sharply against the sides. The person manning the boat was a thin-haired man who resembled a skeleton. He quickly jumped the dock, pulling a rope from the ship and latched it around a pole several times as he secured the boat in place.

He jerked his head towards the boat, signaling them to board one at a time. The corpses followed suit without saying anything.

End of the line came Persephone.

“You again?” Kharon the boatman asked, blocking her entry with an oar.

“Coin.” Kharon said quickly, putting his palm up.

“I told you. I don’t have any coins with me.” Persephone answered.

“Didn’t I tell you to just leave if you can’t pay?” Kharon said, clearly agitated for having to repeat himself again.

Persephone frowned. He barred her entry for the fourth time now, shouldn’t he feel bad for her at least? The boatman remained unfazed with Persephone’s persistence. He shooed her off away from the boat, and told her that she couldn’t cross Acheron River even if she tried.

That is why she hasn’t seen what lies beyond the Acheron River, despite having snuck into the underworld several times.

Time was not on her side.

She doesn’t know why she’s only allowed to stay in the underworld during the nighttime. When the goddess Hekate stepped away, she would also be brought out of the underworld— just like when the darkness was driven away by the power of Phoibos Apollo.

Persephone clenched her fists tightly to her sides. Looking down, she saw how the mist engulfed her torso, fogging her lower limbs. Her journey to the underworld would be a complete waste of time if she didn’t meet ‘him’ today.

The first time she knew of ‘him’, the ruler of the underworld, was during her third time visiting the place. It was dawn then, just like it is now.

Persephone had been interested in the underworld ever since then. Even what went on beyond the river piqued her attention greatly.