Hades woke to the scent of rain on dry earth.
For a long time he simply lay there, eyes closed, feeling the weight of the dead pressing against his ribs like a second, heavier heart. The green light in his chest pulsed slowly, steadily, and with each beat the pressure lessened just enough for him to breathe. When he finally opened his eyes, she was there.
Persephone stood a few paces away, no longer a fragile outline of light and memory. She looked almost solid—skin the color of new leaves after rain, hair dark and wild with the first flowers of the year tangled through it. Her bare feet left faint green prints on the cracked stone of the throne room. Around her the black flowers of the Underworld leaned toward her as if they remembered what they used to be.
"You came back," he said. His voice sounded rough, scraped raw by too many souls.
