She pounded her fists against the door, then pressed her ear to it, striving to hear any sound from the outside. All she heard was her own breath and the too-rapid rhythm of her heartbeat.

She picked up a cushion from the bed and threw it at the door before letting her head drop into her hands. Her chest felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible fist; she took a few deep breaths to steady herself.

The last time she’d been in here, she’d promised herself never again. She had promised to be good and obedient in all things.

That had worked out so well, hadn’t it?

Persephone grabbed the end of the bed and dragged it across the floor, ignoring the hideous noises it made as the wood scraped along stone. She set it against the wall underneath the grate and hopped on top of it, grasping the bars and peering out.

She was taller than she’d been the last time, since she could see outside without needing to jump. It was dark, with few stars visible. As before, the soil nearest her cell was barren, with not even a single blade of grass within reach. In the distance, the wind stirred Demeter’s fields of grain, the same breeze caressing Persephone’s cheeks.

She hopped down from the bed and went to the door, running her hand over it. She didn’t need light to find the marks scored into the wood by the end of a fibula or the point of a buckle. Each slash was one day she’d spent awake; collectively the door bore witness to long months of captivity. For one stretch, a year of her waking life had been spent in this prison. She’d spent many more years in here, unconscious, surrendering to the dreaming earth.

She turned and fumbled in the dark, finding a chest near where the bed had originally been placed. Inside, there was food and water, enough for a few days, and spare clothing. She changed out of her ruined chiton into a fresh one and wrapped herself in a woolen himation.

She sat down on the floor with her back to the wall, facing the door.

She’d survived the underworld. She could survive this.

Demeter could not be angry forever. And then Persephone would...

Would what? Return to acting as the dutiful child? That role had ever been ill-suited for her, and now it did not seem to fit at all.

What other choice did she have?

Persephone curled up with her knees tucked under her chin, her arms wrapped around them. If she’d stayed with Hades...

No. That hadn’t been an option, not with Demeter’s threats made real. Coming to the surface had been the right decision.