Minthe

I will soon forgo the ability to tell my story. My time is coming to an end, and who would I be to take on a goddess? I have taken on a god, and I have lost. She has poisoned his mind with thoughts of spring. Distraction. He didn’t need a distraction. He needed me. Someone from his world, who knows how things work.

Before I rush to explain myself, I must first introduce myself. I am Minthe, daughter of Cocytus, the mighty river of lamentation. A Naiad, yes, but not of some puny overworld river. I am a nymph of one of the rivers of the mighty Underworld, the realm of Hades.

Hades.

There is much to say about him.

A just ruler of the realm. The souls, his citizens, like him. I used to. She turned him against me, and now she scorns me, paints me as a spiteful lover. It is good for Leuce that she died. Persephone would have much to say to Hades’ first wife. Or perhaps, nothing to say, more so something to do. To destroy. So quickly spring has turned to anger and darkness. It was only a matter of time.

My time has come, yet unlike Leuce, I will not slip away with the aeons under Cronos’ knife. My fate moves towards me, smelling of flowers and sadness.

I love Hades. I said it. I love him. This realm was once to be mine. Under my watch, I would have loved him, changed him and the realm. He had no right to take that glowing daughter of the harvest, of the slender ankles and burnished hair. I am a creature of the realm, beautiful beyond comparison and yet, he turns from me. Where Persephone is rounded with youth, I am carved from quartz, jagged and sharp, hardened by age and wisdom. I am the daughter of melancholy, a lithe figure like the souls that wander here. I am his equal. I am death and winter and sadness.

So, I lie here now with hate in my heart for the man I loved. The man with hair that shines like a raven’s wing and eyes that gleam like the wealth hoarded in our realm. The wealth I longed to share. His eyes sparkled with gold, but beneath that, if you really looked, all the colours of nature swam among them, the blues of cresting waves spun with the green of spring meadow grass. There is more to him than death and wealth. Persephone will not look deeper. It scares her to think of him as soft. It scares her to admit her attraction to this being.

I am not afraid.

In the midst of our love affair, he would stroke my dark hair and praise me with phrases the poets could never dream of recording. We were one, as fluid as the soulless rivers, and just as strong. I tried to make him see his mistake when he brought her back from his trip above ground.

‘Zeus approved it.’

As if that makes it right. And I ask, ‘Did Zeus know I held a position as your lover?’

‘It is a good match, Minthe. She can bring some light into this realm of shadows’ he told me.

As if the realm needed brightness, when the realm of the dead has happily lounged in darkness since Chaos first raised his ugly head from the nothingness.

All his arguments didn’t stop him from bedding me once more. As easy as recounting numbers, we fell back into our old rhythm, now avoiding the naïve new addition to his household. She knew. We both knew she did, and yet, he never stopped me when I leaned in to kiss him. He never pushed me away as I tugged at his chiton. And he could’ve. He is Hades, brother of mighty Zeus and the earthshaker Poseidon. He could’ve stopped me, but he didn’t want to. Each time he found me wandering beside the palace, his arm would wrap around me and within moments, I’d be in his bed. My back cradled by cloudlike sheets. He was a gentle lover at first, but as we got to know one another we grew in confidence of our desires.

There was no risk; two beings of the underworld were unlikely to create life. And if it did? Well, my status would be elevated, and he would have to marry me or pay for my silence.

She caught us once. I was in his bed, sheets tangled around my legs, and Hades, her husband, my lover, lying over me, kissing my neck at the spot where he knows it makes me squirm. His hands were on me, one on my breast, the other hidden beneath the sheets. I, too, had my hands on him, one hand in his rich hair, another hidden from view. We were united, and as I gasped for air, I glanced at her from beneath her husband. What would she have me do? Draw his attention to her presence? Run from the bed in fear, leaving Hades unsatisfied and embarrassed? Instead, I leant to capture his mouth in mine and kissed him until the world darkened with overwhelming calm. She stayed for a while watching us. I could smell her flowery scent wafting across the room, intermingling with the scent of Hades’ dark musk.

It was not my best idea to anger Persephone, but it is her choice to be angry about my decisions. And truly, am I solely to blame? Her husband was the instigator most of the time.

She must’ve claimed to him because he never slept with me again. He barely deigned to look at me despite my superior beauty. There was nothing I could do to win him back, and yet I knew I had to try. I bathed, rubbing olive oil into my skin until I shone like glazed terracotta, before padding dark powder around my eyes – he always loved my eyes – finally, I dressed in a gauzy thing meant to be worn as a shift, not a dress. They let me into his palace, after all, I was there often enough. I sauntered through the halls, nothing but seduction on my face, even as I feared meeting Persephone as I walked down the corridor to his bedroom.

The bed was unmade and tousled, a look I knew well enough. I laid the sheets out and climbed on top of them shifting, so my dress caught the light in just the right places. And I waited.

‘You have no right to be here, Minth,’ a young voice said.

‘I have every right to be here,’ I replied.

‘You do not. He is married. His concubine is not welcome in his bed any longer.’ Her tone could have cleaved the stones of Tartarus with its chill.

‘If that is the case, he should tell me himself,’ I said, shuffling deeper into the bed.

‘Do not test me, Minth.’

‘Has he told you about his first nymph-wife Leuce yet?’

Her quizzical face told me that he had not.

‘This isn’t about his nymph-wife. This is about you defiling my marriage.’

‘I was here first. He promised me the throne. He promised me marriage and life at his side.’

Persephone’s gaze falls. ‘Maybe he couldn’t go through losing another nymph and chose to settle for someone more permanent.’

The way she said nymph sounded like an insult. As if we are much lesser than her godly self. She should learn that immortality isn’t worth much when you spend it unhappily.

‘Let him tell me to my face that we are over,’ I declare.

‘It would be a pleasure to watch you hear the words from his mouth,’ Persephone says before stalking out of the room.

I do not know if she expects me to wait for her to return, or if she has gone to fetch Hades. I wait nonetheless, but nobody comes.

A rabid jealousy overwhelms my rationality, and I long to tear her apart. I should love her, support her, but I cannot hide that I would rather push her from a balcony. Not that it would do her immortal body any damage if I did so. I know, somewhere in my soul, that I am behaving like a child. I saw him first, I was here first, as if I were some no-good mortal child playing in the filthy streets. I am better than that. I am Minthe, daughter of Cocytus, and concubine to Hades. I will talk to him. He will realise that he loves me, always has, and send that youth back to the realm she belongs in.

They will turn my words against me. It has happened to every hero since stories began. Some people will say that Heracles deserved his fate, that Achilles had to pay for his crimes, and I will join that list tarnished with the label of concubine or whore. I can use those words myself, for I have no better word when he won’t put a label on my status. Girlfriend, wife, lover; none of those fit. I immortalise myself as Minthe. With my final hours down on papyrus, and I will choose how the world will remember me. I curse anyone who relinquishes me to the shadows of his life. I will not be suffocated by spring. I will live on.

I’m trying not to let the day unravel me. The fates have declared this my final day. They could have been more subtle, I must admit. I know they say not to criticise the fates, but I have nothing left to lose apart from my honour, and I refuse to part with that.

The raven.

There is only one raven who sees the threads of time unspool. The raven of Thanatos. Thanatos – death incarnate – a promise and a curse tied with twine. To wake to a raven outside my room was to wake to the fingers of the Moirai clutching my hair, inching closer to taking my spirit. Atropos is close, her shears hovering over my thread of life. I can feel her. A dark weight behind me. The darkness has always been my friend, but here, faced with the end of my life I am suddenly afraid of my home. The shadows, the darkness, it’s beginning to close in on me. My breath comes with too much effort. My lithe limbs become weighty as I try to make my way through the estate. I can feel her trying to trap me. The pull of her light, a distant pulse.

I know it’s against my best interest to follow the call. I am a curious creature by nature. I suppose I could blame my nature for the way I found myself in his bed.

Cocytus, my father, along with the other infernal rivers, Styx, Phlegethon, Acheron, and Lethe, met once a week to discuss the flow of souls through the underworld. It was a meeting I grew to be intrigued by. As a youngster, the idea of business affairs bored me. As I grew wiser, I realised that business – the talk of men in this realm – was the way to rise. My father would never have let me attend, so I begged Lethe, daughter of Eris, to take me. We concocted a plan.

My father, Cocytus, had always held a grudge against Acheron. It was a petty feud based on geography more ancient than themselves, and my father is old, as old as the underworld itself. You see, the Cocytus flows into the Acheron, and a philosopher once posed the question as to whether the Cocytus is simply more Acheron. They raged. A war between lamentation and woe was a war that tore apart the underworld for many years. I wasn’t born at the time, but my sisters remember. They barely speak of it. Lethe told me about it; she was more of a sister to me than my sisters have ever been.

We planted a seed that Acheron was going to take charge of the Cocytus while the meeting took place. Cocytus refused to attend. I went in his stead. Minthe, representative of the Cocytus river. By the time my father realised the trick, Hades and I were at dinner discussing politics and life.

By the morning, I was in Hades’ bed, wrapped in silken sheets. I spent the morning attended to by his wraith handmaidens, who moisturised my skin with the finest olive oil before dressing me in a fine gown. True gold threaded through the cuffs and hem, trailing up the fabric to meet at my waist, where the fabric was secured by a thick braid of purple silk.

I must stress that my family and I were rich. My reaction to the treatment within Hades’ home might paint me as someone who has never known luxury, but I have. My life is luxury. My father’s underwater palace could equal that of Hades. What surprised me was that the handmaidens were sent by Hades to care for me. It’s hard not to love someone who sees you when so many don’t.

I can’t let my emotions get the best of me. I rarely have them, but now they threaten to make up for lost time. To drown me, just as Aegeus drowned himself with abandon.

It would be easier to face my fate if I knew his feelings were forged. It would be easier if my feelings were a construct, a mask built for power. I cannot run from the love I feel for my King, my Hades. I miss his talk, his conversation. My feelings are true. They’re as true as the fact that tomorrow Helios will rise without me. There is nothing comparable to the feeling of being seen by someone who values you as a whole. A feeling, like all, that will soon depart. At least, there is some comfort in knowing I will be within his realm for eternity. Though whether I have earned my place among the righteous of the Asphodel Meadows is up to the judges to decide. I doubt they will be willing to give me grace.

She lures me into the gardens. A romantic forgery – a mockery of the way I want to be loved. Life swirls around me. Flowers grow where they never used to. Beneath my feet are dainty meadow blooms, each one holding a story of how it came to be. Narcissus lines the edges of the garden, illuminating the dark walls of the garden with his obsession. Where a person once lived, now a plant grows, as he is confined to the sunlit trumpets of the daffodil. At the end of the garden stands Leuce. It’s fitting that I shall fall near her. It is my place to be in league with his first wife. I was his second in all but name.

Leuce is preserved – a white poplar tree – innocent and pure. She outdates the very foundations of this place, and every addition Persephone has made. The wall of the garden curves around her. The goddess of spring, outdone by a tree. I can’t help but enjoy the irony. A little joy before I die; it tastes as sweet as the honeyed bread from Hades’ table.

Persephone is nearby. I might not be able to see her, but she wants me to know she’s around. If she wanted, she could disguise her scent or dull it enough for me to blame it on the garden. She wants to watch. For her own joy or closure, I cannot say. We were never friends, and I can’t pretend to understand her besides her attraction to Hades. I never wanted it to come to this. Hades made a choice that doomed us both. I’m to die, and she’s to turn. Good luck to him and the earth as spring turns to decay. It won’t be my problem.

There is a moment where I realise, I am dying. The cloying taste of magic fills the air. Pomegranate and citrus, but beneath the sweetness, there’s something rotten. The scent of the underworld, the scent of me mixing with her stench of abundance. For a brief second, I see fear flit across her face. She fears I will resist her. Hades is gone; a rare trip to Olympus. His absence granting his wife freedom to deal with his problems. With Persephone around, I was on borrowed time.

Perhaps, Persephone will always be thankful that I drove her great husband towards the light for his wife. Maybe I was too dark for his shadows, too overpowering and threatening. I could’ve been the perfect wife, and the dread Queen. He never gave me the chance to try the latter, despite my intellect. It grates me that I die without fulfilling my life. I was destined for greatness. I was always praised for my stubbornness, while my sisters were praised for their magic and tortured poetry.

There is little time to finish my tale as the magic coagulates my blood. I watch in horror as my hands shrink, fingers fusing until small leaves unfurl. The veins that once held blood now carry this toxin, turning my soft skin into something tough. There is pain only the underworld could bestow. Lightning ricochets through my body as each rib collapses, my organs morphing. I’m so dizzy that it is hard to tell that I am shrinking. I step to steady myself and fall. My legs. I glimpse them. They’re joined. Melded together, but still slender. I continue shrinking. My train of thought is becoming harder to muster. I must be smaller than a street dog.

I see her smile as my face begins to fold inwards.

I am both dead and alive in a new form. The curse of spring.

As my senses fade, I hear her speak.

‘I shall call it – Mint.’