Persephone and I stand at the lip of the abyss, her bright strawberry blonde hair shining in the gloam of the pit's torches.
"Are you scared to descend?" the spring goddess asks, me beside her in my glory days, winged as an immaculate seraphim. She has butternut skin and cocoa eyes. Taking the goddess' hand, we walk the narrow path to Hades.
"Only as scared as my usual harrowing in Hell," I respond, smiling slightly.
We come to the banks of Charon. Fishing some change from my pocket, I tip the oarman a dime and some pennies into the mechanical slot. The barge bobs up and down in the brackish Styx as Persephone in her wedding gown and I in my angelic garb leave stranded souls behind on the shore as the ferryman presses on.
