#waterscorn

Send me '☯ + a scene from my characters canon' and I will drabble it from my character's POV.

the hadestown she arrives in is a nightmare.

    she wants to scream, to rage against her husband, her lover. they’ve been at odds for several seasons now but this - this seems worse by far. something painful twists in her gut, in her chest, and she stares at this bastardized city with belching factories and foundries with great pillars of smoke that rise. it’s suffocating, far more so than the way his grip has tightened on her these past decades. he’s done this for himself, the bitter part of her says. further his own interests. it cannot be for her. not this. once he had given her flowers, gemstones, beautiful dresses and gowns, draped her in his embrace - now she feels shut out. the great wall he’s built feels as though it’s between them, not around them. 

       it makes her sick. 

  the shades - the workers - they cry out. she wants to tell them she can hear them when their king does not. that she has returned and things will be different, but she knows they won’t hear. because if hades doesn’t hear, how can they? if he can’t see, how can they? the heat is overwhelming, as if she’s standing on the sun, not beneath it. she wants to strip bare and bathe in the river in hopes it might give her relief. but hades is there, his grip on her wrist, and it’s everything persephone can do not to throw him to the ground, beg him to reverse this madness. this steel and iron and everything that the underworld should not be. 

    but no. he throws it in her faces. threatens her with jealousy. persephone lets him. surely he will not. surely he cannot. 

    “i don’t know you anymore!” she screams, she shouts, and he does not listen. cannot listen. deafened by his stones and steel. this is not you, lover! this is not you hades! listen to me!

    he doesn’t. hadestown broils. persephone suffers. the world above is nothing but storms and snow and every bit of her temperment and she cannot hope to control it, not when hades seems hell bent on this path. like a railroad, steel beams unbendable and unbreakable on the path to hell. 

     she always takes pity on the younger ones. the ones who died long before they’d had a chance to thrive up top. the fates are cruel and persephone does what she can to shepherd these souls in the underworld during the time she’s down below. the ones who cannot work in the mines or factories, she finds other uses for them. usually busy work, if anything. she can’t bear to think of them trapped digging out diamonds for eternity. 

(ෆ ͒•∘̬• ͒)◞ + what you enjoy about my portrayal —**

@waterscorn​

@waterscorn​ 

       she’s still in her favorite green dress because she’s only just arrived back down below. winter hadn’t been early for the first time in decades and it feels like the worlds of gods and men might be coming back into rhythm again. she and hades are still learning how to fall back in love again, but they’re working on it. 

   after dropping her bags at home and the sort, she heads into hadestown proper. there are a few she checks in on personally, tries to see to all the factories - the ones left standing. several have been removed in the efforts to bring hadestown back into rhythm as well. she’s happy to see to her shades, the souls in her care, to see them smile for once and look her in the eye. 

  she sees to eurydice, then sets off to see to the speakeasy and the girl she’d left in charge of it.