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The first thing Persephone noticed about the Underworld was the silence.

Not ordinary silence.

Not the peaceful quiet of snowfall or the stillness before dawn.

This silence was ancient. Endless. The kind that settled into bones and stayed there. It suffocated him.

The golden prince of spring stood at the edge of the obsidian palace, fists clenched so tightly flower petals had begun wilting between his fingers. Rage pulsed hot beneath his skin, violent and alive against the dead chill of the realm below.

“You cannot keep me here.”

Hades sat upon his throne unmoved, shadows stretching lazily beneath his feet.

“I can.”

Persephone’s breathing sharpened. “My mother will scorch the earth.”

“She already has.”

And she had.

Winter had swallowed the mortal realm whole the moment Persephone vanished. Rivers froze solid beneath Demeter’s grief. Crops blackened in the soil. Entire forests bent beneath endless snowstorms born from divine fury.

The world above was dying for him. Yet the Underworld remained unchanged.

Eternal, not like his gardens that change everytime with a breeze.

Persephone hated it.

Hated the ghosts wandering endless fields. Hated the heavy scent of damp earth and old stone. Hated the way no sunlight reached these lands no matter how far he walked. And most of all—

He hated her.

Or at least, he tried to.

.

.

.

The daughter of Hades rarely appeared within the palace itself.

The servants whispered of her in fearful tones:

The Goddess of Rot.

The Shepherd of Dead Herds.

The Winter Below Soil.

Persephone expected a monster. Something cruel. Something eager to drag him deeper into darkness.

Instead, the first time he saw you, you were kneeling beside the corpse of a deer. Your black robes pooled around you like spilled ink against pale snow. One gloved hand rested gently upon the animal’s neck while spectral light flickered softly beneath your fingertips.

The deer’s spirit slowly rose from its body. You stroked its muzzle once.

Then let it go. No ceremony. No theatrics.

Persephone stared. You looked up slowly, meeting his gaze with eyes far too ancient for someone who looked so young.

“Lord Persephone.”

Your voice was soft. Calm. Almost detached.

He immediately disliked how unaffected you sounded.

“You’re his daughter.”

“Yes.”

“You knew he was going to kidnap me.”

“Yes.”

No shame. No apology, just truth. Something ugly curled in his chest.

“You could’ve stopped him.”

Your gaze drifted back toward the dead deer.

“No.”

And somehow that answer enraged him more than excuses ever could have.

.

.

.

At first, Persephone used you.

Or tried to.

You were one of the few beings allowed passage between realms due to your duties. Death did not remain solely underground. Livestock plagues, starvation winters, natural endings—you governed all of it.

And Persephone noticed quickly:

whenever you left the Underworld… the gates opened.

So he followed you constantly.

He told himself it was strategy. Escape.

Nothing more.

The first few journeys were unbearable.

Snowstorms raged across the mortal world under Demeter’s mourning. Villages starved. Forests stood brittle and frozen beneath gray skies.

And everywhere you walked:

life recoiled.

Grass yellowed beneath your footsteps. Soil crumbled soft as ash. Fruit trees sagged into decay before your fingertips ever touched them.

Mortals fled at the sight of you.

Persephone thought they were right to.

You never reacted.

Never defended yourself.

Just continued your work with that same terrible calm.

You guided dying animals gently into death.

Closed the eyes of frostbitten shepherds.

Stroked skeletal wolves with cold hands while they breathed their final breaths.

And Persephone—who had spent eternity worshipped by everything living—could not understand you at all.

The silence between you became unbearable.

So eventually, he started speaking simply to destroy it.

“You never get angry?” he asked once while trudging beside you through a dead orchard.

“No.”

“You never get tired?”

“No.”

“You always answer with one word?”

You glanced at him briefly.

“Usually.”

He scoffed loudly enough to make nearby crows scatter from barren branches.

You did not react.

And somehow that only made him continue.

.

.

.

The nymphs whispered the first time they saw the two of you together. Persephone heard every word.

“Look at the fields dying…”

“She’s cursed.”

“No wonder Hades keeps her below.”

“She’s terrifying.”

You simply kept walking through the snow-covered valley as though you hadn’t heard them at all. That bothered him more than the insults themselves. Because you were too used to it. Too accustomed to fear.

Persephone found himself glaring back toward the nymphs long after their voices faded.

“You could curse them,” he muttered.

“I could.”

“Then why don’t you?”

You paused beside a frozen stream. Snow drifted silently around you while ghostly deer wandered the forest behind your figure.

“Fear is natural.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s fair.”

Your gaze shifted toward him then.

For the first time, something faintly curious flickered behind your eyes.

“Nature is not fair either.”

That answer lingered inside him for days.

.

The conversation about love happened during the harshest winter yet.

Demeter’s grief had become monstrous by then. Entire mountain ranges disappeared beneath blizzards. Mortals prayed desperately to gods that no longer answered.

Persephone walked beside you through a white forest thick with silence. He hated silence now. Not because it frightened him. Because he had started craving your voice within it, You were basically his lover, If Your father's intention weren't clear enough.

The realization irritated him endlessly.

So he spoke again.

“What do you think love is?”

You looked at him from the corner of your eyes before extending your palm into falling snow. A snowflake landed gently against your skin, melting almost instantly.

“Love?” You repeated softly.

“Yes.”

You closed your fingers slowly around the melted snow.

“I can’t say.”

Persephone frowned. “Why not?”

A small chuckle escaped you then—quiet enough he almost thought he imagined it.

“Love is a complicated thing that neither mortal nor immortal beings can truly explain.”

He looked at you properly now, curiosity slipping beneath his irritation.

“It is a word shaped by individual perception.”

You gestured toward two deer standing nearby, gently pressing their faces together beneath dead trees.

“It often appears beautiful.”

Then your gaze shifted elsewhere.

A wolf nudged the unmoving body of its mate lying frozen in the snow. Small pups whimpered nearby while the surviving wolf released a low, aching howl into the forest.

“And ugly,” Persephone murmured quietly.

Your expression remained calm.

“Love is never ugly.”

The pups approached their dead parent carefully, whining softly. The older wolf lowered itself beside the corpse protectively.

“Tis never was.”

You lifted one pale hand.

Soft light bloomed from your fingertips.

A glowing spirit slowly emerged from the dead wolf’s body, pressing gently against its grieving mate one final time.

The living wolf closed its eyes.

Peaceful.

Understanding.

You turned away after that, walking silently toward the distant gates of the Underworld.Persephone remained standing in the snow long after you disappeared.

Something had changed.

Something subtle.

Because for the first time since arriving below— the Underworld no longer felt entirely cold.

.

.

.

After that, he started noticing things.

The way dead things calmed beneath your touch. The way spirits followed you willingly. The way you never killed in cruelty. Only balance. Only necessity.

And worse— He began waiting for your responses. Seeking them out. Provoking conversations just to hear your thoughts afterward.

The silence he once despised now became unbearable only when you were absent from it.

One evening he returned briefly to Olympus under guarded permission.

Everything was warm. Alive. Loud.

Nymphs laughed around him. Flowers bloomed at his feet. Music drifted endlessly through golden halls.

Once, he would have loved it. Now it felt… shallow. Temporary. He found himself staring toward the horizon wondering what you were doing below.

Whether snow had gathered in your dark hair. Whether ghost wolves still followed your footsteps.

Whether you were walking alone again through dead forests without complaint.

And suddenly—

he missed you. The realization struck like poison. Persephone stood abruptly from the banquet table, ignoring Demeter calling after him.

Because the thought consuming him was horrifyingly simple:

He wanted to go back.

Not to the Underworld.

To you