When she wanted to take a break from her daily activities, Persephone wandered along the banks of the Lethe, under the slender branches of the willows, which arched to touch its waters, and walked all the way to the cave of Hypnos.
She went there mostly to pick poppies, whose flowers surrounded the quiet realm of the god of sleep.
The bright red blooms glowed from afar in the perpetual sunset, a bucolic image whose beauty was worthy of a painter’s canvas: a small tributary of the river Lethe was dancing between large boulders atop a rocky bed, surrounded by poppies, lavender and chamomile, and other soothing herbs, in the shadow of large linden trees, perpetually in bloom.
The fragrance surrounding the place, it had no match in existence, not even in the gardens of Olympus.
The flowers were always swarmed by bees, the goddess’s faithful companions, who built their hives in nearby tree hollows, which were dripping with melting wax, amber, and honey in the warmth of the sunset.
The softest grass grew on the banks of the stream, tall and bright green, so delicate its texture seemed unreal, and even its touch was barely felt under the fingers.
The little stream bubbled along its winding banks and entered the cave, getting lost in its depths.
The sun never entered that cave, which was immersed in perpetual darkness, and where the twin brother of Thanatos pretended to sleep, careful about his image.
He was very young, Hypnos, a beardless youth. One never would have guessed the two were even related, not to mention having been born together.
Thanatos was tall, pale, and donning a full black beard, an imposing figure, even in the Underworld, but otherwise quite an amenable fellow, who didn’t like to hold a grudge, not even for the antics of the likes of Sisyphus, and that said something.
Persephone cringed, remembering how annoyed Ares would be to learn she did it again, getting bamboozled into releasing a soul from Tartarus on false pretenses.
Honest mistake, obviously.
The Sisyphus debacle got massively out of hand when the latter chained Thanatos in Tartarus and stopped mortals from dying on earth altogether, thus upsetting the natural order of things and getting the attention of Hades himself, which, to put it mildly, was not an ideal situation.
Of course Ares didn’t miss the chance to flaunt the fact he had to free death himself in their faces, considering Thanatos had been chained in the middle of Tartarus, right under Hades’s and Persephone’s noses, and they weren’t even aware of it happening, not even when the stream of new souls coming to their realm had started to dwindle, so Hades had to punish the wrongdoer for all eternity just to save face.
As strange as the pair of twins was, so different in demeanor and apparent age, they often traveled together to interact with the realm of the mortals, something Persephone could never understand, since they served very different purposes.
Hypnos was surrounded by his swarm of ghostly dream children when she entered the cave, and Persephone mumbled softly under her breath, decrying her bad luck.
Unlike his twin, Hypnos was a cranky youth, rather unpleasant when awakened from his perpetual snoozing, which Persephone always did her best not to disturb.
His offspring, among whom counted Morpheus, Phantasos and Phobetor, were a constant presence in the Land of Dreams, making up ever more startling illusions which could shake a person to the core, and Persephone had to guess their antics had to have something to do with the lack of parental supervision, since their deceptively young father was always so deeply devoted to his favorite activity he didn’t find the time to watch them.
“Merry meet, goddess,” he nodded, distracted, playing with a slender branch of poplar in the waters of the Lethe.
“You’re up,” she smiled, awkward. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Only for a moment,” the latter frowned, displeased.
Persephone had been picking flowers all afternoon and had an enormous bouquet of lavender and poppies in her arms.
“I see you’ve been busy. Brightening up the palace?”
“Oh, most of them are for one of Hecate’s salves. I hope you don’t mind.”
Hypnos frowned, but had enough sense not to balk at her comment, since Persephone was the queen after all, unreasonable as one might have found that detail.
He hated Hecate, the dark goddess, for holding sharp and unpalatable opinions, as much as the latter despised him for being slothful and without purpose, and flaunted his dominion by keeping mortals awake at all hours of the night to perform her ceremonies.
On full moons, the clearings of the forests were disturbed by loud chanting and torches and utterly unsuitable activities, whose irritating racket always seeped into the peace of his cave.
He had made it dark and quiet, and chosen it because the Lethe was flowing through it, ensured it was surrounded by countless species of soporific plants to facilitate his slumber, and all he got for his trouble was that now he had women bothering him with their constant sneaking around the place to steal his flowers and harvest wax and honey from the tree hollows.
“Suit yourself,” Hypnos replied morosely and turned his back, pretending to sleep.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Persephone slipped past him without a sound, to reach the depths of the cave, where, in a crevice between two boulders, grew a very rare Boswellia tree, legendary for its incense.
When she returned with the resinous plunder, only moments later, Hypnos was fast asleep, so she walked past him quietly and out of the cave, careful not to dislodge his ire again.
The soft grass brought her memories of enchanting afternoons with Hades, who was so taken with her at the time he’d leave Tartarus to its own devices just to watch her make flower crowns and garlands, while he let her braid flowers in his hair.
She saw him from a distance, gazing into the waters of the Lethe, waiting for her.
“Did you bother grumpy again? You know he always complains when you come here, right?”
“That’s part of the fun,” she returned him a mischievous smile. “Here,” she handed him a poppy.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” he looked at it, awkward, like one would expect the god of the underworld to be when holding a poppy.
“It is for a good cause. I got Hecate her ingredients.” Persephone showed him the harvest, triumphant.
They walked back together under the willows, and their slender branches kept getting in the way, so they had to part them with their hands, like living curtains, which closed behind them as they advanced.
The scent of the lindens lingered, intoxicating, over the soft grass and the sleepy Lethe, and the underworld stood still, outside of time, charmed by powerful magic.
Some moments are worth dwelling upon, and you never want them to end; even in a place where time has no dominion, they are hard to find.
“Much as I enjoy this, you have to let go of time, Persephone,” Hades smiled. “We have work to do. You have no idea how much stuff is waiting for me when we get back to the palace. Ares…” he tensed as he spoke.
“It was good while it lasted,” Persephone sighed and released the strands of time, allowing them to flow once more. “You were saying?”
“Ares wants to check for himself that Iadeus is in Tartarus. I’m afraid your protégé will have to spend a few hours there.”
“Are you letting Ares pass through the bronze gates? I thought nobody from the world above was allowed to enter Tartarus!”
“I’m making an exception, Zeus insisted, and if I don’t indulge Ares’ whims, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Hades frowned.
“Maybe the poor soul was better off roaming the earth. I didn’t bring him here to worsen his fate,” Persephone pouted.
“I’ll make sure he’s safe,” Hades reassured her, although all the reassurances in the world couldn’t soothe his wife’s worries.
Tartarus was chaotic, violent and too strange, even for Hades.
There was no telling what could happen next, and which of its terrifying denizens would wreak havoc without warning, not a place where one wanted to spend even a moment.
It was much lower than Hades, farther down than the earth was from the sky, a bottomless pit of absolute darkness, where nothing ruled other than terror and uncertainty, and the expectation of untold monstrous creatures slithering in its depths unbeknownst to its dwellers.
A wall of bronze with heavy gates guarded its entrance, and nobody got past them without Hades’ say so.
The hecatoncheires patrolled its perimeter, rolling slowly around the damned on their hundred hands, watching them with a hundred eyes, so enormous their stature overshadowed the sun.
Their countenance was so off-putting even their father couldn’t bear the sight of them and got them imprisoned in Tartarus before the Great War between the gods and the titans saw the latter imprisoned there, and their vile temper got them constantly embroiled in some epic fight with their other monstrous siblings, the cyclops, conflict which shook the foundations of Tartarus with its thrashing and brawling.
In the middle of this unholy row the giant monster Typhon roamed his domain, carrying garlands of snake heads where the one head should have been, all of which boasted glowing eyes of fire.
From their sulfurous muzzles, terrible noises emerged, that sounded like all the frightening animals on earth have been brought together on purpose, as the Typhon ominously spread his dark wings, hovering over the bottomless abyss.
There was no telling of up and down there, no sense of direction, just the black waters of chaos with their unpredictable nature, and no one, mortal or god, could spend more than a few hours in its endless, dark and hopeless realm without going mad.
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