She’d become disconnected from the seasons, distant from all the natural cycles. Nothing else could explain her distorted perception of time. If this went on, she’d forget who she once was, just like poor Cerberus, only she wouldn’t need Lethe’s water to break her mind. Simply remaining here, stranded in a world separated from Gaia’s rhythms, would be enough to drive her mad.

“That would mean our wedding anniversary was some time in the past,” Persephone said.

Hades eyed her warily over the top of her chalice. “Yes.”

“We did not exchange gifts.”

“Is there something in particular that you want?” Hades asked, enunciating each word carefully, as if she were dreading the answer.

Persephone played with her wheat cake, tearing it into tiny shreds. “There is only one thing I’ve ever asked of you.”

“Untrue, but you know why I cannot grant your wish.” Hades’ hand hovered near Persephone’s shoulder as though she was going to touch her, but then she must have thought better of it, as she withdrew soon after.

Persephone pushed back her chair and stood. The entire hall went silent, with every assembled person and deity of the underworld turning to glance in her direction. She looked at Hades, expecting some reaction, but Hades did nothing to stop her. She turned and fled from the dining hall, taking the stairs down three at a time.

She didn’t have to suffer this, didn’t have to bear witness, trapped and silently screaming as she slowly lost herself. She could go to Lethe now, drink of its waters. It was always there as a fallback, in the event that she could not endure this captivity any longer and simply wished to drown her sorrows. But then, if she no longer remembered who Hades was, what she’d done to her, why would she try to resist Hades’ silken tongue and her warm hands and warmer bed? No, she couldn’t bear that. Lethe was not an option, not unless she wanted to let Hades win.

She was turning a corner when she almost ran into a young scribe, his arms overburdened with scrolls.

“Forgive me,” he stammered, dropping a scroll.

Persephone leaned down and picked it up for him. She caught a glimpse of its contents as she handed it back: tallies of the dead, organized by date of arrival. “It’s late,” she said, not without sympathy. “Is Hades keeping you up all night with work?”

The man’s face flushed a deep red, the same red as the acne he had not thought to erase from his self-image, now that he was dead. “The work is an honor,” he said, eyes downcast. “I bring news for Hades’ attention.”

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. “I found you first,” Persephone said. “Let’s walk together, and you can tell me on the way.”