Persephone never went near them again, and avoided that part of the greenhouse.
Looking at the box, the mark on her skin burned hotter, a reminder of another failed attempt to please her mother. She searched through the box until she found a bracelet wide enough to cover the mark. It would have to do until Hades removed it.
As Persephone moved back into her room, her mother appeared in front of her. Persephone jumped.
“By the Gods, mother! Can you at least use the door like a normal parent? And knock?”
The Goddess of Harvest was beautiful and didn’t bother to glamour up to hide her elegant, seven-point antlers. Her hair was blond like Persephone’s, but straight and long. She had creamy skin and her high cheekbones were naturally rosy like her lips. Demeter lifted her pointed chin, assessing Persephone with critical eyes—eyes that changed from brown to green to gold.
“Nonsense,” she said, taking Persephone’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, applying more magic. Persephone knew what she was doing without looking in the mirror—covering her freckles, brightening the color in her cheeks, and straightening her wavy hair. Demeter liked when Persephone resembled her, and Persephone preferred to look as little like her mother as possible.
“You might be playing mortal, but you can still look Divine,” she said.
Persephone rolled her eyes. Her appearance was just another way she disappointed her mother.
“There!” Demeter finally exclaimed, releasing her chin. “Beautiful.”
Persephone looked in the mirror. She had been right—Demeter had covered up everything Persephone liked about herself.
Still, she managed a forced, “Thank you, mother.”
“It was nothing, my flower.” Demeter patted her cheek. “So, tell me about this…job.”
The word sounded like a curse coming from Demeter’s lips. Persephone ground her teeth together. She was surprised by how fast and furious the anger tore through her.
“It’s an internship, mother. If I do well, I might have a job when I graduate.”
Demeter frowned. “Dear, you know you do not have to work.”
“So you say,” she muttered under her breath.
“What was that?” Demeter asked.
Persephone turned to her mother and said louder. “I want to do this, mother. I’m good at it.”
“You are good at so many things, Kore,” she said.
“Don’t call me that!” Persephone snapped. Her mother’s eyes flashed. She’d seen that look right before Demeter thrashed one of her nymphs for letting her wander out of sight.
Persephone shouldn’t have gotten angry, but she couldn’t help it. She hated that name. It was her childhood nickname, and it meant exactly that—maiden. The word was like a prison, but worse than that, it reminded her that if she stepped too far out of line, the bars of her prison would only solidify. She was the magic-less daughter of an Olympian. Not only that, she borrowed her mother’s magic. If anything, that was a tether that meant obeying her mother was even more important. Without Demeter's glamour, Persephone couldn’t live in the mortal world anonymously.
“Sorry, mother,” she managed, but she didn’t look at the goddess as she spoke. Not because she was embarrassed, but because she really didn’t mean the apology.
“Oh, my flower. I don’t blame you,” she said, placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “It’s this mortal world. It’s creating a divide between us.”
“Mother, you are being ridiculous,” Persephone said and sighed, placing her hands on either side of her face, and when she spoke again, she meant every word. “You are all I have.”
Demeter smiled, holding her daughter’s wrists. Hades’ mark burned. She leaned in a little, as if to kiss Persephone’s cheek. Instead, she said, “Remember that.”
Then she was gone.
Persephone released her breath and her body withered. Even when she had nothing to hide, dealing with her mother was exhausting. She was constantly on edge, preparing for what she would find unacceptable next. Overtime, Persephone thought she had hardened herself against her mother’s unwanted words, but sometimes they pierced her.
She finished getting ready, choosing a pretty, light pink dress with ruffled sleeves. She paired it with a white wedge shoe and white handbag. On the way out, she stopped to check her reflection in the mirror, pulling glamour from her hair and face, returning her curls and freckles. She smiled, recognizing herself once again.
She headed out. Persephone didn’t have a car and she didn’t have the ability to teleport like other gods, so she either walked or took the bus when she needed to get around New Athens. Today, the sun was out and warm so she decided to walk.