FAWC 2: Spilling the Seed
(Author's note: This story is a submission to the second Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge (FAWC). The true author of this story is kept anonymous, but will be revealed on August 16th, 2013, in the comments section following this story. Each story in this challenge is centered around a random determination of four "mystery ingredients." There are no prizes given in this challenge; this is simply a friendly competition.)
(The mystery ingredients for this story were Recklessness, Food, Obnoxious and Color. )
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'What a little beauty!' Zeus Father of the Gods thought enthusiastically, leaning on his elbow in his magisterial throne and rubbing his hand carelessly up and down his lightning rod.
By his right side stood the voluptuous Demeter, Goddess of the harvest, her bounteous and fruitful figure completely obscured by a great quantity of hideous brown sackcloth. Zeus possibly regretted the complete covering of his ex-lover's attractive figure less than he would have done if the ox eyes of Hera (his wife) had not been fixed on him.
To his left hand stood his brother Hades, ruler of the dead and the Underworld. His saturnine features were in his habitual cold expressionless stare in spite of the seriousness of the charge against him.
Persephone was in front of them on the steps leading to Zeus' throne. Her head of black coiled curls was bowed. Her slender form sprawled in apparent humility and shame, the rainbow hued diaphanous robe appropriate to her status as Kore, the Maiden, scattered in bright folds about her. Through the shimmering layers of cloth could be seen the loveliness of her long limbs, her curving full breasts. Other Gods than her own father (that infamous old lecher) were evidently conscious of the manifold appeal of her figure, the glistening long curls of black hair sliding on skin of a delicate brown that suggested the delicious tang of spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar.
"The mortals cry daily to us in piteous starvation," Hera spoke up grumpily, interrupting Zeus's besotted musings.
"Yes, right," he said crossly.
"Demeter," Hera snapped. "You had no business to go back on your responsibilities. You must once again perform the arts and rites to make the harvest grow."
There was a rustle in the heavy sackcloth. A lesser Goddess would not of course be so rude to the ox-eyed wife of Zeus as to suck her teeth and toss her head. Nevertheless, Zeus coughed loudly and spoke over any noise that might have been made.
"Hades. Persephone-Kore, my daughter, shall be freed to return to the earth's surface. She and Demeter are the twin Goddesses of the harvest, Demeter can't be expected to carry out the arts and rites lonely and sad at heart, mourning the loss of her child. Nor can you expect to entrap so lovely a dark maiden, with all the beauties of her youth: her soft skin, her full breasts ..." Hera might have made a snorting noise and possibly Aphrodite sniggered. Zeus chose to believe Goddesses of such high stature would not make disrespectful noises towards their patriarchal husband and leader. "Nor can you expect to entrap a young maiden in the obnoxious pit of Hell to which you abducted her after foully despoiling her maidenhood."
The young woman sprawled on the steps gave a quivering shudder at his words, the rainbow robe shimmered about her long soft brown limbs, the black coils of hair danced about her shoulders and then were still.
Hades was looking down at her. His thin white face remained cold and expressionless. If he expected her to confront him with his crimes, he was disappointed. It was said that he liked a little spirit. After all, he was always transporting people's spirits down down to the bottommost reaches of the Underworld. So there was a flutter of puzzlement among the Gods and Goddesses as to why he should have picked out the demure maiden Persephone. She had already rejected the manly charms of Mr Hot Stuff Apollo himself, among other suitors. The Gods had left the Kore Persephone to the serious work she appeared to prefer: the complicated arts and rites of the harvest which she practiced with her mother Demeter. Now Hades of all Gods had apparently, with a recklessness nobody would have suspected him of, carried off the lovely young creature in her dancing robe of color, to his noxious dark realm in the Underworld.
"So-o, there we have it," Zeus pronounced. "Persephone-Kore: return to your mother. Demeter: resume the arts and rites to bring forth the harvest with our daughter by your side. Hades: not good, not good at all, brother. Go back where you came from. I'll be in touch to discuss your punishment."
Zeus was about to bang his fist with the lightning rod in it on the arm of his magisterial seat when Hades spoke.
"A word," he said.
"You what?" Zeus said crossly.
"A word with Persephone, before I go," Hades' voice remained expressionless.
"A word with the Kore?" Zeus said suspiciously. His gaze was suddenly caught by the uplifting of the young woman's head. Large brown eyes, liquid with tears, were lifted to him in pleading. So had her mother once looked, with eyes of the glistening brown beauty of the fertile earth. "No-o," Zeus started to say on his daughter's behalf. Luckily he was no mere mortal father who only thinks he knows best, but an omniscient God. "Er, I mean .... Very well. One word. Just one. Come along, my dear ... er, my dear." He managed to hustle both the indignant Demeter and the indignant Hera out and the other Gods and Goddesses traipsed chattering after them.
Hades stood at the top of the steps, looking down to where Persephone sprawled in her robe of color, head of black coiled curls once more bowed down. Finally he said: "Is my last word to you to be 'Goodbye'?"
She was thinking, remembering. She was remembering the day he came by the grove of sunny trees watered by a small brook where she sat working at some details of the arts she and her mother and their attendant nymphs created in order that the harvests would grow. She was alone that day, perhaps a little bored for her head lifted at the sound of his chariot wheels clattering above the liquid laughter of the cool brook. She looked out from the glancing sunlight of the pleasant shady grove of trees. She caught a piercing eye in a white face, a red flash that suggested dark knowledge of depravity. The corner of her soft mouth curled up even as her beautiful brown eyes dipped down.
His eye was already caught. If she had given him the brazen stare, his eye might have glanced over it, he might have ridden on by. Her eyes dipped and his followed, his gaze fell in the deep cleft of her big breasts and trailed down her tall curving figure in the shimmering robe of color.