“When I’m talking to you, you will sit and listen,” Demeter said, her arms folded over her chest. Her cheeks were in high color, and her gaze could’ve cut marble.

Seeing no way out, Persephone sat back down on the bed, her eyes lowered.

“When you were born, you were such a little thing. So frail and useless. Hera advised me to cast you down, as she’d done with her son—did you know that?”

“No,” Persephone whispered. She’d heard this tale countless times before but knew what was expected of her.

“But I didn’t listen to her. I nursed you from my own breast. And to this day here you are, still draining the life from your poor, exhausted mother! Why I bothered to keep you at all, Gaia only knows. If I’d known you’d be such a spoiled and selfish brat, I’d have followed Hera’s advice and cast you into the ocean!”

That didn’t sound so bad right now. A kind nereid might’ve saved her, for one. “I’m sorry,” Persephone said, not entirely certain what she was being sorry for.

“I should’ve known nothing good ever came from your father’s seed. He might be the king of the gods, but we all know the truth—at heart, he is a beast, no better than any satyr!”

Persephone flinched and glanced out the window. The sky seemed clear, at least for now. If Zeus had heard her mother’s rantings, he gave no sign.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

She turned her head, and Demeter slapped her across the face. Persephone tasted ichor, the blood of the gods, upon her tongue.

“You would be nothing without me.”

Persephone held her hand to her cheek. “That’s not true,” she whispered.

“Oh, you think yourself so capable and worldly?” Demeter sneered.

“I didn’t—”

“Fine.” Demeter went to the trunk at the end of her bed and began pulling out clothes, belts, and sandals, tossing them over her shoulder onto the floor. “Everything I’ve bought for you—no expense spared, no luxury out of reach—you think you can do better for yourself? Very well. Take your things—my things, those things earned by my sweat and labor—and go.”

Persephone stared at the mess all around them. “That’s not what I meant, Mother. Of course I appreciate everything you’ve ever done to raise me—”

Demeter dropped the last belt on the floor, its metal links clinking. “You have no idea what I’ve been through to keep you safe! No idea of the dangers outside, of the sacrifices I’ve made for you!”

Persephone ducked as her mother flung a sandal at her head. It hit the cup that had held the asphodel, and the pottery smashed. “Mother, please!”