yet?”
“No, no.” Bending my knees produces a fresh set of tears. “It’s just, I have legs, and ...”
My friend laughs the same relieved exhale I’ve come to know over the years. “Stars above, Dusa. You scared me.”
“I wouldn’t have put such a trick past Athena,” Hades mutters in the background.
I need to see these legs. My legs. I go to rip the sheet off, but the woman stops me.
“File out boys.” She motions with her free hand toward Hermes and Hades. “Let’s let Medusa get dressed and fed before we do anything else, hmm?”
It’s then I realize I am completely naked under the sheet. If I’d thought I was overly warm a minute ago, I was quite mistaken, because now I am completely enflamed.
“Persephone, be nice to her,” Hermes warns. He squeezes my hand and reluctantly gets up.
She blows him a kiss. “I will pretend you didn’t just say that.” And then, amazingly, both gods exit the room.
I wipe away the lingering tears. “You’re ... Persephone?”
She smoothes back some of my hair; her touch is tender against my sensitive skin. “Yes, darling. You’re currently in my home in Olympus. Hermes thought it best you recuperate somewhere comfortable.”
And this is where he chose? Yet I lick my dry lips and promptly thank her for taking me in.
“I am delighted to do so. Oh! Hold on a second; there is someone who wants to visit.” She goes into a sitting room just off the bedroom and returns with Mátia. “This little man has missed his mama.”
I take my kitten and press kisses all over his soft face. So, Persephone is the favorite aunt Hermes trusted with my baby. “Thank you,” I tell her once more, letting gratitude coat my words.
She presses the cup she’d been offering earlier into my hand. “We’ve wanted to meet you for some time. Obviously, Hades and I have ... intimate knowledge ... of your characters over the years. Outside of what our beloved nephew tells us.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “You mean, from all the poor souls I’ve sent to you.”
“Yes, that,” she says with a wry smile. She is her husband’s opposite—light where he is dark. “Do not be ashamed, darling girl. Death comes for a person when it is exactly their time. Be rest assured, we are fully cognizant of the details of your situation.” She smoothes my hair once more. “Besides, how could we dislike anyone who has so thoroughly earned Hermes’ trust?”
It is odd to hear her refer to Hermes as her nephew, or me as a girl, as Persephone barely looks a day over twenty-five herself.
She goes to an armoire nearby. “Come. Let’s get you up on your feet and dressed.” She motions to what appears to be a depthless array of clothing. “Would you like modern or traditional?”
Over the years, I’ve developed a secret love for fashion despite the lack of ability to truly indulge in it. I poured over magazines and websites, marveling over just how artful clothing has become. But now, faced with a choice of practically anything I could ever want, and legs and a body to fit into such luxuries, I have no idea what I want.
If Persephone is bothered by my lack of answer, she doesn’t show it. She extracts a billowy pale gray dress from the closet and holds it out. “How about this one? It’s a little of both. Greek styling,” she fingers a threaded silvery pattern on the waist, “with modern sensibilities. Let us see if those legs are working yet.”
My legs tremble like a newborn foal’s, but I manage to get out of the bed. She has to help me immediately, as outside of the sheets, I am exposed, raw: new, pale, pink flesh shivering weakly in cool air. But Persephone acts as if this—me—is nothing out of the ordinary. She holds onto me as I pull the oh-so-soft to the touch silk dress over my head; it floats around me like a cloud. Something in my memory, deep and long repressed, stirs—an image, a sensation, of me in a dress not quite so fine, running through a golden
“No, no.” Bending my knees produces a fresh set of tears. “It’s just, I have legs, and ...”
My friend laughs the same relieved exhale I’ve come to know over the years. “Stars above, Dusa. You scared me.”
“I wouldn’t have put such a trick past Athena,” Hades mutters in the background.
I need to see these legs. My legs. I go to rip the sheet off, but the woman stops me.
“File out boys.” She motions with her free hand toward Hermes and Hades. “Let’s let Medusa get dressed and fed before we do anything else, hmm?”
It’s then I realize I am completely naked under the sheet. If I’d thought I was overly warm a minute ago, I was quite mistaken, because now I am completely enflamed.
“Persephone, be nice to her,” Hermes warns. He squeezes my hand and reluctantly gets up.
She blows him a kiss. “I will pretend you didn’t just say that.” And then, amazingly, both gods exit the room.
I wipe away the lingering tears. “You’re ... Persephone?”
She smoothes back some of my hair; her touch is tender against my sensitive skin. “Yes, darling. You’re currently in my home in Olympus. Hermes thought it best you recuperate somewhere comfortable.”
And this is where he chose? Yet I lick my dry lips and promptly thank her for taking me in.
“I am delighted to do so. Oh! Hold on a second; there is someone who wants to visit.” She goes into a sitting room just off the bedroom and returns with Mátia. “This little man has missed his mama.”
I take my kitten and press kisses all over his soft face. So, Persephone is the favorite aunt Hermes trusted with my baby. “Thank you,” I tell her once more, letting gratitude coat my words.
She presses the cup she’d been offering earlier into my hand. “We’ve wanted to meet you for some time. Obviously, Hades and I have ... intimate knowledge ... of your characters over the years. Outside of what our beloved nephew tells us.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “You mean, from all the poor souls I’ve sent to you.”
“Yes, that,” she says with a wry smile. She is her husband’s opposite—light where he is dark. “Do not be ashamed, darling girl. Death comes for a person when it is exactly their time. Be rest assured, we are fully cognizant of the details of your situation.” She smoothes my hair once more. “Besides, how could we dislike anyone who has so thoroughly earned Hermes’ trust?”
It is odd to hear her refer to Hermes as her nephew, or me as a girl, as Persephone barely looks a day over twenty-five herself.
She goes to an armoire nearby. “Come. Let’s get you up on your feet and dressed.” She motions to what appears to be a depthless array of clothing. “Would you like modern or traditional?”
Over the years, I’ve developed a secret love for fashion despite the lack of ability to truly indulge in it. I poured over magazines and websites, marveling over just how artful clothing has become. But now, faced with a choice of practically anything I could ever want, and legs and a body to fit into such luxuries, I have no idea what I want.
If Persephone is bothered by my lack of answer, she doesn’t show it. She extracts a billowy pale gray dress from the closet and holds it out. “How about this one? It’s a little of both. Greek styling,” she fingers a threaded silvery pattern on the waist, “with modern sensibilities. Let us see if those legs are working yet.”
My legs tremble like a newborn foal’s, but I manage to get out of the bed. She has to help me immediately, as outside of the sheets, I am exposed, raw: new, pale, pink flesh shivering weakly in cool air. But Persephone acts as if this—me—is nothing out of the ordinary. She holds onto me as I pull the oh-so-soft to the touch silk dress over my head; it floats around me like a cloud. Something in my memory, deep and long repressed, stirs—an image, a sensation, of me in a dress not quite so fine, running through a golden
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