Persephius

He said I wasn’t a man.

That I was Demeter’s daughter, worth less than a tree. A being neither woman nor man.

It would be a lie to say I wasn’t angry. But I knew his words were true. So I just stood there. 

This was something I had been questioning myself for a long time, ever since reason had first dawned in my mind.

What am I?

Neither woman nor man, what am I?

Until coming to the underworld, escaping from my mother was my priority. I thought that only by fleeing from her radiance could I see my true self. 

Like being unable to open one’s eyes in the sun, I was nothing beside my mother. I was merely what she wanted me to be, never myself. Persephone, Kore, Demeter’s only daughter. 

If Hadeia hadn’t pulled me into her chariot thinking I was a woman, I would still be hiding my face in a pink peplos with hunched shoulders, living like a stork among chickens. Bound by the tiresome scent of daffodils.

And now? Blessings upon Hadeia’s two-wheeled chariot. In the palace of the underworld’s ruler, I was a brave and independent young man. 

Unafraid of the god of death, burning with adventure, a young hero worthy of being immortalized in songs. That’s how I saw myself. At least, that’s how I wanted to see myself.

That damned nymph in green clothes shattered my hopes and beliefs, then left laughing. My face burned with humiliation. I clenched my fists, but it only highlighted my powerlessness. 

Had these hands ever held a spear or sword? Had they ever grasped anything heavier than flowers and silk garments? Had I ever bled or sacrificed for myself, let alone to protect others? 

Even when faced with death by the three-headed monster dog, I could do nothing. If Hadeia hadn’t grabbed me by the nape of my neck and pulled me out, I would have been torn to pieces.

He was right. I wasn’t a man. I had never accomplished anything manly.

Even coming to the underworld wasn’t by my own power. It was Hadeia’s ability. My adventures wandering the underworld weren’t because of my own merit. It was because Hadeia turned a blind eye. 

I couldn’t even overcome the pain of hunger. Far from overcoming it, I not only faced a life-threatening situation but ended up eating offerings meant for another deity, despite being Demeter’s son. I had done nothing.

I didn’t cry. My face burned hot and my chest felt so heavy I wanted to scream, but I didn’t cry. That was all I could do.

‘Not a man… unable to help her?’

I bit my lip. I felt miserable and ashamed. The sound of my heartbeat was clear in my ears.

Yes, that reed-like nymph at dawn mocked me for not being a man. He was right. I was still wearing the crimson chiton my mother had chosen for me. 

Though now filthy with the dust and darkness of the underworld, it was still clothing suitable for an unmarried daughter. That fellow must have known who I was, what my mother called me. 

So he knew what weakness would break my ankle and bring me down. Yes, I wear women’s clothes. My mother and the whole world call me Persephone, Kore. To them, I wasn’t a man.

But Hadeia called me Persephius.

So I was a man. A young man who could become an adventurer, a hero. In that moment when she called me Persephius, I could become anything I desired more intensely than death itself.

Therefore, I could help her.

I started running. I had no destination, no specific person to find. I just needed to see someone, anyone I knew by name and face, someone who might know where she was.

The corridors of the underworld had impossibly high ceilings. The gardens and pavilions visible between the silent columns were dark like tombstones, with will-o’-wisps floating about like dandelion seeds. 

There wasn’t a single statue in her palace. 

She was death, and no one could sculpt her. Only humans who knew Hades created statues that looked nothing like her, worshipping in vain.

I thought about the marriage proposals she received. About the souls who never tried to learn who she was, what her true name was. About her numerous retainers, even that insolent, wicked servant who never once called her by her real name. 

I wondered when was the last time she heard someone call her by her true name. The way she called me. Persephius. 

I felt like I had lived until now just to hear that name.

In the distance, I saw a man with brown hair wearing dove-colored clothes. The ash-gray wings on his back revealed his identity. Morpheus. The god who had politely stopped me from breaking a jar taller than myself some time ago. 

He said that while it might store grain in the world above, here in the underworld it contained nothing. Unlike Thanatos or Momus, he had been kind to me. He wasn’t the type to weave strange plots like Eris. Perhaps he could show me the way. 

I ran even faster. I feared he might spread his silent wings and disappear before I could reach him. My left sandal was flapping, making my thigh and shin muscles ache. But I couldn’t stop.

“Morpheus! Wait a moment!”

He turned around with a surprised face.

“Aren’t you Demeter’s son? Why do you call for me so urgently?”

“Wait, just a moment… I’m dying here.”

I was completely out of breath. But even though Morpheus had stopped, I didn’t slow down. I wouldn’t feel at ease unless I got right up to him and spoke while looking into his eyes. He had wings, after all. 

If my request exceeded what his proper nature could bear, he might soar straight into the sky. That probably wouldn’t happen, but just in case. Anyway, I wanted to be close enough to quickly grab his garment if needed.

“There’s something I want you to tell me.”

“If it’s within my ability, certainly. First, catch your breath. It’s difficult for me to watch.”

“Thank you. Just a moment… that’s all I need.”

Morpheus was staring at me with calm gray eyes. His gaze was like someone carefully observing an unfamiliar herb. Did he already know what I was going to say?

I tried to catch my breath, but it wasn’t easy. Not because I had run like a horse pulling the sun chariot. The question I wanted to ask Morpheus was stuck to my heart like a valve. 

Just rehearsing it in my head made a pounding sound in my ears. If I finally voiced my question, it would be like pulling out my heart along with it.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. But my aunt… I heard she’s very ill.”

Morpheus’s eyes narrowed briefly.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Fortunately, he didn’t deny it or attack me by asking who told me. He answered cleanly.

“But there’s no need for Demeter’s son to worry this much. She will naturally recover within seven days, or at most, two weeks.”

“That’s too long! It’s unnecessary suffering! Morpheus, what I mean is, if there’s a way to ease my aunt’s condition—”

“Are you saying there is?”

I swallowed hard. Then I straightened my back and pulled in my chin. Morpheus was half a span shorter than me, so I had to tilt my head slightly to look him directly in the eyes.

“I can help her.”

Minthe said I couldn’t help her because I wasn’t a real man. Conversely, if I were a man, I could help her.

So I could help her. I could rescue her from her indefinite illness. Hadn’t I promised? That someday, without fail, I too would save her life.

Silence fell. Morpheus looked away from me and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“How are you so certain?”

“I just know.”

“That seems like insufficient evidence to guide you to the Underworld ruler’s bedchamber.”

“I swear on my mother’s name. I can heal her.”

“In what way?”

For a moment, my tongue felt like it was shriveling. My heart pumped hot blood like lava to my head and below my stomach. 

I opened my mouth, but no plausible words came out. They just struggled around my throat like fish caught in a net.

Morpheus was still looking down at the floor tiles, seemingly counting them. He held his chin with his right hand, his elegant wings neatly folded.

“I… heard. That her illness is because of my father. So I…, since I came from the surface, if I share what I have, her illness will subside.”

“What you have?”

He asked. I desperately pulled out what Eris had said from my brain.

“Warmth… vitality… things that don’t exist in the underworld.”

“Have you thought about how you would share it? The method?”

“That’s…”

Damn it, what could I say to that? Explain how sparrows press their bellies together, what deer do under green ferns? 

If his intention was to embarrass me into silence, this was Morpheus’s victory.

“From your reaction, it seems you do have some plan, son of Demeter.”

But Morpheus didn’t mock me. His gray eyes meeting mine again showed not ridicule or contempt, but another emotion. It was concern.

“But you are still young. No, you are a child. You might be able to heal our ruler. There has never been, nor will there ever be, anyone hotter and more brilliant than you in this underworld. But what about afterward? What will you do after she rises from her bed? Have you calculated that far?”

“Afterward?”

“Fever doesn’t erase memories. Especially if you intend to help her recover from it.”

I didn’t properly understand what Morpheus was worried about. The birds and horses and cattle hadn’t told me about what happens after a woman and man share a bed, the inevitable changes in the relationship. 

Though my gender was wrong, the nickname Kore wasn’t given to me for nothing. I didn’t realize this act wouldn’t end with simple treatment, a heroic rescue.

“It doesn’t matter. What’s important is making her well, right? Why suffer needlessly when she doesn’t have to? This is also about repaying a debt. If it weren’t for her, I would have been lying among garden bones long ago.”

“Have you ever undressed a woman’s chiton before?”

It was like a question delivered with a punch.

“No. But I’ve worn one myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Morpheus, I’ll take responsibility.”

“You’ll have to. You’ll have no choice.”

Morpheus shook his head.

“It will be irreversible. It might spiral into a catastrophe beyond repair.”

“She needs help.”

I said with all my strength.

“She shouldn’t suffer this pain when she’s done nothing wrong. If she can get better, if she can be freed, we should do whatever it takes. She deserves that treatment.”

Morpheus didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at me. His pupils were like fog. I suddenly wondered how I appeared to him.

A child? A youngster? Someone nicknamed ‘virgin’ who doesn’t know what to do, yet insists on being taken to the Underworld ruler’s bedchamber? 

My throat was dry. I clenched my fists.

He sighed.

“You will never be called Kore again.”

I followed Morpheus.

My heart was racing.