Eros

Persephone has returned to Demeter’s embrace. Hermes carried him from the underworld, I’m told. 

He joked that Demeter’s son was so heavy he’d never transport him again. Fortunately, Persephone was unconscious. He wouldn’t have appreciated that comment.

Right now, I’m sitting near Mount Eryx, watching the vegetation revive in vibrant green. Trees that had withered like straw now gleam with bronze light, and dead flowers bloom again, releasing rich fragrances. 

I can imagine Demeter’s joy. Now that she’s safely found her lost child, perhaps she can bury the question of where he’d been.

I carefully recall my conversation with Hermes.

“Why was Persephone unconscious?”

“He drank the waters of forgetfulness.”

Hermes answered candidly, making no effort to hide anything.

“Without that, no force could have extracted him from there. You should have seen his face! Whatever he experienced in the underworld left him in terrible shape. Strange though, that he willingly drank the water of oblivion. Most don’t. Major events that transform one’s essence leave scars on the soul whether pleasant or not, so completely forgetting everything only harms oneself. But it made my job easier.”

“Was Demeter happy?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t she be?”

When I hesitated, he smirked.

“Yes, I suspected something like this. Demeter’s daffodil wouldn’t fall into h*ll without reason. Your mischief must have taken an unfortunate turn!”

It wasn’t mischief, nor was it my intention to shoot that arrow, but what good would interrupting Hermes do? Involving my mother would only make everything ten times more complicated.

Seeing my face turn red with embarrassment, Hermes smiled knowingly.

“When she first heard Persephone was in the underworld, it was absolute chaos. She was one step away from tearing open the earth and leaping into the underworld herself. Hades must have anticipated such a reaction and informed Zeus directly rather than Demeter herself! Still, I flew down like a kingfisher, so there was no major problem. Zeus and Hera somehow managed to restrain Demeter! Like I said, since Persephone drank from Lethe himself, there was no resistance, making transport easy, with no obstacles. I brought him straight up, laid him in Demeter’s temple, and voilà! Problem solved.”

“Did she say anything about Hades?”

“Why, did you do something to Hades too?”

How perceptive Hermes is! 

I jumped up like someone had stabbed my backside with an awl.

“No! I’m just curious! Demeter was furious, threatening to tear apart the monster who took Persephone. Finding Persephone safe is certainly cause for celebration, but the culprit still…”

“Hmm, is that really all?”

“O-of course! Even I find Hades frightening.”

“Good. She’s the goddess of death, after all. You should be afraid! But now that you mention it, I’m a bit uneasy myself.”

Hermes shifted his weight to one leg and crossed his arms. The small wings on his sandals fluttered.

“Well, I wonder why Demeter didn’t vent her anger. Perhaps because Hades essentially turned herself in, and the child was unharmed, she let it go? They are siblings born from the same womb, after all. Currently, Demeter stays by Persephone’s side all day, nursing him, and doesn’t seem interested in stirring up trouble in the underworld. If Persephone complained about suffering some terrible treatment, it might be different. But he’s lost all memory of the underworld, a blank slate. And really, what terrible thing could Hades do to him?”

“Right. Nothing besides death, I suppose.”

“Haha! There are punishments in this world more terrifying than death! You’re too young to know that, of course. Anyway, Hades is the furthest from such behavior. Unless, of course, she was struck by a golden arrow.”

“I didn’t do anything to Hades! I have no desire to play tricks on the goddess of death. Absolutely not!”

“Oh, good. That’s how it should be.”

Hermes tousled my hair mischievously.

“I have to give you credit for being clever! Just keep your pranks moderate. If humans starve to death, who will fill our temples? Never anger gods who keep people alive!”

Our conversation ended there. In the distance, Zeus’s thunderous voice called for Hermes.

Thanks to Hermes, two things became clear. First, Demeter chose not to hold Hades accountable. Second, Persephone voluntarily drank from the waters of Lethe.

What do these two facts mean?

I sat on a cloud, dangling my feet and kicking at the air. The scent of newly bloomed daffodils and violets mixed with the breeze. 

I stretched my neck to look down. A few nymphs were out in the golden daffodil field, looking like sandpipers crossing an ice-covered lake.

Understandably awkward, since until recently this land was devastatingly barren. This is where Persephone disappeared. Everyone knows how tremendously angry Demeter must have been. 

A nymph in a purple chiton walking among the bright yellow flowers looked quite beautiful. She was carefully picking daffodils and placing them in a beige wooden basket, probably on Demeter’s orders. They must be decorating Persephone’s room.

“Is this really how it ends?”

No one answered me. Of course not.

‘Persephone safely returned to Demeter, Demeter’s anger subsided, my mother’s anger subsided. So is everything resolved? Just like this?’

Deep inside, I felt like a chestnut burr was rolling around. A symptom I’d been harboring for quite some time? 

Ever since my mother attacked Hades with my arrow. No, no. Perhaps it started much earlier. 

Right here, when I aimed my bow at her from the peak of Mount Eryx. The prickling sensation made me fidget even when idle, and I often spent nights wide awake. Is this what guilt feels like?

Everything looks peaceful and perfect. Like nothing ever happened. Persephone will be protected as always, Demeter will be a loving mother as always, and my mother will do whatever she pleases, as always.

But what about Hades? And what about me, who lied to her?

My mother provoked Hades by claiming I shot Persephone with a golden arrow, to inflict greater humiliation. That wasn’t true. 

Initially, mother’s designated target was Hades, not Persephone, and the arrow I reluctantly shot wasn’t even a golden one.

‘Too afraid of mother to reveal the truth, I became a liar too. Deceiving the goddess of death! What kind of fool would do such a thing? Me, apparently.’

Yes, those who’ve heard my story know that Persephone wasn’t struck by a golden arrow. If he claimed to love Hades, it meant his feelings were genuine. 

My heart felt heavy. I think I understood why Persephone requested the water of oblivion.

Because of my mother’s lie, Hades wouldn’t believe Persephone’s sincerity. I know well the fate of rejected love, of affection that fails to gain trust. I’ve seen it countless times. Those suffering from heartbreak pray to erase both mind and heart, unable to bear the burn in their hearts.

It’s true that I play many pranks. No excuse there. But I’ve never intentionally set out to break people’s hearts with malice. Nor do I find joy in such tragedies. Moreover, what happened to Hades wasn’t even entirely my will. That must be why I feel so troubled and uneasy.

After blocking Hades’s chariot that day, mother completely erased her anger. Having vented thoroughly, she saw no need to hold a grudge. That’s her nature. 

After Hades immediately turned around and descended, mother dusted off her hands cleanly and never mentioned her again. Proof that no resentment or ill feelings remained. 

As her son, I can guarantee this. Though sometimes insufferably nasty, she never holds grudges long. She barely has time just for loving.

‘Mother has finished her revenge. So telling Hades the truth wouldn’t be betraying mother, right?’

I stared at the nymphs in the daffodil field, lost in thought.

Following my newfound conscience would mean revealing the truth to Hades. But Persephone has lost his memories. However sincere his feelings were, they’ve been washed away with the water of oblivion. 

Besides, even believing it was because of the golden arrow, Hades handled everything with astonishing coldness and speed. I could never have done that. Returning immediately and sending him back to the surface the very next day.

‘Perhaps she never really liked Persephone? What if she was glad to send him away? If that’s the case, confessing to Hades would be like stirring up a beehive that had finally quieted down.’

Oh my, my head felt ready to burst!

Don’t you think? The situation is completely unpredictable. Heaven, earth, and the underworld—though I can’t be certain about the last one since I’ve never been there—have finally quieted down. 

Would it be right to throw a wasp’s nest just for my own peace of mind? 

But if one god lies to another, especially to the goddess of death and ruler of the underworld, it would be utterly shameful. Since we live forever, the truth will eventually come out somehow. 

Ugh! Even Apollo with all his wisdom would find this problem difficult!

That’s when I saw it. From the far edge of the sea of daffodils, from the valley thick with oak and ash trees, a new nymph came running. Wearing a light sky-blue chiton like a parakeet, he truly ran like a bird. He carried no basket, his hands empty. 

He raced straight to his friends, stamping his bare feet and speaking loudly. I leaned in to listen, curious about what was happening. I bent so deeply that my bottom, perched on the cloud, was precariously balanced.

Thanks to this, I caught the happy news.

“Persephone has awakened!”