Minthe

I haven’t slept for more than four days.

That’s only natural. Even Hypnos, the god of sleep, hasn’t entered the bedchamber for a long time, so how could I, a mere nymph and servant, rest comfortably? 

When painful sighs escape from beyond the bedchamber, filling the palace and underworld with sorrow, how could I think of myself?

Like always, I secured the lock on the door to the bedchamber and covered it with a black silk curtain. It pains me that this is the only thing I can do. 

It hurts that I cannot heal her illness, and even if I could, she would not permit it. But this time, if I dare be honest, a poisonous relief and secret joy welled up like a spring in my heart.

It’s the fever. She has once again fallen into fever and withdrawn. A fever caused by the poison of the dead and the cold energy of the underworld. The very illness that returns like the changing seasons.

What does this mean?

‘It was all nonsense after all. If that blond was truly her spouse, which would never happen, or even if she had taken him merely as a temporary plaything—she would never have fallen ill with fever.’

As a servant who welcomes the master’s suffering, perhaps I should pay for my sin with death. But I’m not afraid. Rather, I’m proud. 

The fact that only I in this underworld believed in her without wavering, that while countless lesser gods, nymphs, and souls saw what they wanted to see and heard what they wanted to hear, only I stood firm with true devotion—this fills me with immeasurable pride. 

Even if some higher power were to read the joy in my heart and punish me, I would gladly show my loyalty and offer my neck beneath the blade.

Yes, Demeter’s son was nothing to her. How could he be? 

That childishly bright golden hair like painted pigment, his attire completely lacking dignity and propriety, and that delicate face that might only appeal to nymphs of springs or flowers—I saw with my own eyes how he sat in the royal presence without any sense of decorum. 

He was unworthy of the ruler of the underworld. Far from being her spouse, he was a scoundrel inadequate even for warming the bed for a single night.

His appearance is decent enough. I can somewhat understand why my father and Eris praised him so highly. But what else does he have? Being Demeter’s son? 

Moreover, isn’t he someone the whole world knows as a daughter, a maiden? He’s nothing but a novice who has no power or miracles beyond following behind his mother’s skirts. 

It would be an honor if he could tie her shoelaces. Furthermore, being born in the world above and settling in the underworld only to cause discord and worry the ruler, he deserves no grace.

‘Now that the ruler has fallen ill, everyone will know. That he is nothing but an unwelcome guest with no significance. Now the unnecessary rumors and wicked stories will subside.’

Just thinking about it made the tightness under my ribs ease. My steps lightened. I couldn’t even feel the weight of the bronze brazier I was carrying. It felt like holding transparent silk.

Shall I explain about the brazier? 

When the ruler’s chamber is open, my duties are these: I arrange and decorate the bed daily with flowers and incense offered from the world above. I bury seeds of deep sleep from Hypnos in the bedding and scatter the rest on the ceiling and canopy. And when the chamber is closed due to illness like now, instead of flowers, I must bring and light a fire.

She never mentioned the symptoms of her illness. She simply closes the chamber and secludes herself. Speaking of the ailment wouldn’t cure it, and she likely considers her dignity as a deity. 

But to me alone, she gave these instructions: to always place braziers filled with coal and firewood outside the door. 

The chills brought on by fever freeze the marrow and gnaw at the soul. The one who endures this pain silently and alone commanded only me. 

I have never missed or failed in anything she wanted from me. Nor have I presumptuously coveted tasks not commanded. That’s how I remained by her side.

This time is no different. Since I am only permitted to tend the fire outside the chamber, I was going to fulfill that role.

“Wait!”

Until the one I despise stopped me.

I ignored him and continued walking. I walked as though I couldn’t hear, or rather, as though his words weren’t worth listening to. I didn’t even look in his direction. 

I am her servant. I belong to the ruler of the underworld. I will not bow my head to some princess from a daffodil field.

“I said wait!”

He kept following me persistently. When I continued to ignore him, he ran after me without any dignity. Crossing the corridor and even jumping over windowsills. Then he stood right in front of me, blocking my way.

“You’re going to see my aunt, right?”

Aunt? I wanted to snort. He’s the son of the womanizer Zeus. Everyone knows how Zeus took Hera—transforming into a small rain-soaked bird to gain sympathy, and when Hera took pity and held him to her br*ast, he immediately revealed his true form. How would he be any different? 

Indeed, blood doesn’t lie. He couldn’t understand how unpleasant it was for him to call them his aunt and pretend to be close.

Instead of answering, I looked straight at Zeus’s son. It wasn’t hard to see what his father looked like. Handsome like a temple and shameless in his arrogance. Despite growing up in women’s clothing, he reeked like a stallion. I couldn’t stand being in the same space with him.

When I tried to step aside without responding, he stubbornly blocked me again.

“I know you serve my aunt. You’re going to her now, right?”

“Do you know me?”

“Yes. I was there when you brought flowers and offerings before. You must have seen me too.”

“Well, I have a habit of not remembering trivial things.”

He frowned momentarily.

“I am Demeter’s son. I am neither trivial nor someone a mere nymph should be insolent to.”

“I see. Then where is your noble mother now? I haven’t seen her here.”

I didn’t laugh. I didn’t even raise the corner of my mouth. I wasn’t making a joke. I was only speaking the truth. 

His milky neck gradually turned red. His thick golden eyebrows, almost crimson, furrowed terribly. But I didn’t care. Unless he held lightning in his grasp, why should I fear him?

But he drove the situation into a muddy mess in a way I never expected.

“I can help my aunt.”

“What did you say?”

“I just spoke with someone close to my aunt. They said I could help her endure the fever.”

“Nonsense.”

“By the way, what god were you again? What kind of god accuses other gods of being liars? Ah, that’s right. You’re a palace servant. Hmm, then which side is right? Doesn’t seem like a difficult choice, does it?”

“No one knows her better than I do. I am the only one permitted to arrange her chamber.”

“Yes, so lead me there now. I’ll see how devoted you are to your duty. Surely you’re not going to claim you don’t know the way?”

When he growled, the flames in the brazier I was holding flickered like a snake, like a hungry tongue. It was an unbearable heat for a son of the river.

I am the son of Cocytus. One of the many rivers in the underworld, and merely its son at that. Not a god, nor a god’s son. No better than a white poplar. I know this. But I could endure it.

Aren’t I better than a white poplar? What greater tragedy is there than a mortal loving an immortal? A short life without reciprocation, is it enough to be pitied and turned into vegetation to remain nearby? 

Not for me. I swear I have never once envied Leuce. Even though he wrapped around the throne and spread his branches wherever they stayed, I was the one living beside her. Only I could guard and gaze upon her until eternity. 

Whether mortal or immortal, she was equally indifferent to everyone. So I was fine. I could endure it.

Until the son of Zeus and Demeter, who had a promising future with nothing lacking, interfered.

Why is the world so unfair?

“Help? You say you can help them?”

Now I laughed. A laugh that felt like wringing my intestines and scraping under my skin.

“How do you intend to help? The burden your great father imposed, and the constraint that even he can no longer resolve, how will you manage it? Will you weave daffodils into a wreath for them? Will you sit beside them weaving silk and be their companion? Daughter of Demeter, you are more useless in this underworld than a white poplar! Because you’re not a man!”

Now he looked like the underworld. A face as pale as bone, drained of all blood.

The laughter didn’t stop. I walked laughing like a madman. He no longer followed. The path to her chamber was quieter than a tomb.

Only the white poplar watched me among it all.