According to Greek myth Persephone is the daughter of Head God, Zeus and Demeter (Mother Earth), Persephone is Goddess of Spring and helps Demeter tend plants.

 

Hades, Lord of the Underworld, was smitten with Persephone and asked Zeus for her hand. Zeus didn't consent because he feared Demeter's temper. Hades whisks Persephone away to the Underworld anyway and makes her Queen of the Underworld.

 

But Demeter was distraught that her daughter left and wandered the earth looking for her. 

 

Zeus exercised his power, and declared that Persephone's marriage would be void as long as she ate nothing from the Underworld's garden. She ate a pomegranate from the garden in the underworld and that act consummated her marriage to Hades.

 

The Myth of Persephone, as interpreted by Alicia Farnsworth

New York, 1947

She meets him on a bone-chilling night in late November. Fat droplets of rain pelt against the glass windows of the shop. It had been a slow day like always, the cold, dreary weather doing little to draw out customers, especially since mama had closed the shutters.

It had been a strange habit, she noticed, that her mother had picked up a few weeks prior, acting more nervous and uptight than usual as the two of them shut up shop for the night exceptionally early.

Her mama’s cigarette smoke curls through the air as she puffs between painted red lips, counting the bills in the register with a quick hand. Smoking time was the only time her mama was ever relaxed, which she seemed to be doing a lot more nowadays. Hey, the end to war time meant prosperity and an end to rations. Smokes was what the woman wanted.

The girl shivers with a chatter of teeth, her thin cream sweater doing little to keep her warm. The chime above the door sounds then.

“Sorry, pal,” says her mama without looking up in that clipped voice of hers, “we’re closed. Come back tomorrow morning, yeah?” The only reply is the crisp sound of Italian leather shoes against the linoleum floor as whoever enters makes their way to the counter.

Three young men dressed to the nines in the most expensive looking attire she’s ever seen. Single ed suits paired with silk handkerchiefs, fedoras, polished brass cuffs, looking like they just came from a high end cocktail party than most would on a rainy Sunday night. All of them share a similar frame, tall and lean, broad shoulders and rather fetching, handsome features. The girl feels her breath catch a little.

The one closest to the door has his hands in his pockets, leaning casually against the far wall near the large display in the window. Hair black as night slicked back to reveal equally dark eyes, quiet and calculating, an aura of cold sophistication surrounding him. Someone that doesn’t like to be toyed with. He's looking in her direction like he's studying her, tense.

On the contrary, the young man at his side is completely at ease in the way his dinner jacket is draped over one shoulder, flashing a charming smile. Eyes like the ocean, hair the color of champagne swept away from his forehead. He's humming a soft tune to no one in particular, entertaining himself.

The man at the counter is a different story entirely. Glossy onyx strands falling over his eyes, the first button of his collared shirt tastefully undone at the throat. Intimidating yet so alluring with an almost predatory look as he draws closer, gaze flickering over her features, so very confident.

When he speaks, his voice is low, fluted, smoky. A sweet-talker, no doubt. Her pulse stutters.

“That's a shame, ma'am. Would have loved to check out some beauties.”

The blonde one snorts. “Real smooth, Ravi.”

Mama glances up and freezes. The one called Ravi smiles warmly at the girl and pulls out a case from his pocket, placing a cigarette between his lips.

“You got a light, doll face?”

Without a word, her mother slides her the lighter from across the countertop. It takes her a few times as she fumbles with the spark wheel when he leans closer. The cigarette lights and he ever so slightly blows a wisp of sweet smoke in her face.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” says mama. There's a hint of a tremor in her voice. He takes a long drag and pauses, pondering.

“Just wanted some blooms,” he says almost matter of factly, and places his hands on the counter, leaning toward the woman, “you're really not closed, are you? My boys and I would hate to go to the other side of town, you see.” He sounds genuinely disappointed and it makes the girl uneasy at his soft tone.

“No, of course not,” mama says in a tight voice, “choose whatever you'd like.”

His lips twist in satisfaction and he pushes off from the countertop, turning to the man beside him. “C’mon, Ken. Help me pick something out, maybe for that brunette you’ve been stuck on.” The blonde, Ken, scoffs and brushes past him to look at the rows and rows of flowers lining the shop.

“Yeah, whatever. Leo, keep watch.” Ken states with an amused chortle as the young man by the door continues to glare at them in displeasure with his arms now crossed over his chest.

“Bite me,”

Ravi and Ken continue to chuckle softly as they comb the shelves and talk amongst themselves. He gestures over to the girl then.

“Twelve of these, miss,”

Ravi points to a vase of white roses and that’s when she feels a shiver of suspicion and anxiety course through her; it’s becoming very apparent that this trio are more than just handsome, sharply dressed young men, but something much more sinister.

Despite her nervousness, she gives him an easy smile and takes the roses back behind the counter to wrap them in cellophane. She finishes quickly and rings up the transaction.

“Ninety cents, please,”

A crisp one hundred dollar bill is placed on the countertop.

“Keep the change,” says the smooth voice. She looks up at him in disbelief.

“A-are you sure?” She asks. Holy smokes, who is this guy, carrying around money like that like it’s just tissue paper?

“Sure as shooting,”

And then Ravi glances to the two men behind him with a nod and they file towards the door.

“Thanks for the roses,” Ken calls as Leo falls in step beside him and they exit outside. Ravi, however, lingers behind and whirls back around to face the girl, eyes half-lidded and a confident smirk on his lips.

“Bye bye, birdie,” he drawls and tips his hat. She flushes from the roots of her hair down to her toes.

The instant the glass door clicks shut behind him, mama runs over and hastily locks it, pulling down all of the shades. She's shaking, her skin the color of moonlight and her forehead is glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.

“Who were those men?” the girl asks breathlessly.

“Trouble,” says mama, “stay away from them, Persephone.”

--

Mama falls ill the next weekend, blaming that cold, rainy night for catching a rather nasty flu, leaving her immobile and able to do nothing but cough in bed and Persephone left to care for the shop alone. Not like she’s never done it by herself before, but it certainly makes things easier with another person around.

After a successful close, she double checks the lock before heading out onto the dimly lit street. She’ll have to swing by the store to pick up some groceries since mama can’t cook at the moment. She rounds the corner, checking the contents of her handbag for her spare tube of lipstick when she notices a figure on the edge of her vision.

She glances up instinctively and feels her breath catch at those familiar dark eyes.

Ravi, looking handsome as ever, leaning against the mouth of an alleyway with his trademark cigarette. He catches her gaze, laughter in his deep voice.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite little bird,”

“They say cigarettes will shoot out your lungs,” she calls out teasingly. It’s stupid, she realizes, flirting with this white-collar who could probably buy out her entire business at the drop of a hat. But she doesn’t care. There’s something about him that’s absolutely exhilarating with his dangerous aura, something that makes her want to destroy her precious, conservative good girl image.

“That why your mama smokes them too?” he retorts with a knowing smirk. He pulls out his cigarette case and offers her one then, eyeing her. “Hey, something gets us all eventually. Immortality isn’t an offer, might as well play a little roulette.”

In a quick motion, he gives her a light and the two are quietly puffing away smoke like locomotives. They taste sweet and costly, sweeter than the ones she’s snuck from her mother’s purse in the past.

“You waiting on someone?” she asks him after a long drag. Why else would the fella be hanging around like a street rat alone? A rat dressed in Armani, that is. Ravi shakes his head.

“I was, but my brothers don't count.”

She an eyebrow in humor and he waves a hand as if to acknowledge her expression.

“The three of us really don't look alike, I know. Hell, sometimes I wonder if we really are related,” he chuckles, “we share the same blood but that's about it.”

She hums in response as they snuff out their cigarettes on the sidewalk.

“Plans this evening?” Ravi inquires.

“I have to pick up supper,” she remembers with a groan, “mama’s gonna throw a fit when she smells smokes on me, the hypocrite.”

He chuckles. “Can't have that.” His hand disappears into his jacket pocket and she feels her eyes widen when she sees the single white rose. He twirls the stem gingerly, leaning forward to place it behind her ear.

The gesture is rather sweet and she can’t help but giggle like a shy little schoolgirl. The perfume from the rose smells delicate and honeyed, much like herself in a way.

--

She starts looking forward to their Sunday visits, though they tended to be relatively short and concise since both parties knew of her mother’s hostile attitude towards the trio (which Persephone still hadn’t been told the reason) Ravi’s brothers, like he mentioned, are all dynamic in their own way.

Quiet Leo with his soothing, threadlike voice and gentle laugh. He had been terribly intimidating at first with the brim of his fedora pulled low over his eyes, so much so that her knees would knock together behind the counter whenever he entered. But she soon realized that behind the costly attire and that cold gaze was a young man fond of heliotropes and poetry. Coffee too, always kept a frosted glass waiting for him on the countertop.

Then there was Ken, completely different in his own right. The young man was like the personification of sunshine itself, right down to the golden colored hair. Bubbly and energetic, he was a real mood maker and could easily manipulate the atmosphere to his advantage, which helped immensely on slow nights whenever she needed a good laugh. He liked hydrangeas the best, placing them in the lapel of his pocket.

Ravi was the only one that visited after hours, waltzing into the shop with the chime above the door signaling his entrance with that smug grin. By far the most intriguing to her, pulling her like a moth to a flame with those soft words that would send her pulse aflutter, sweet musk and cigarette smoke.

As time passes and their calls become steady, annual business, she notices that Ken and Leo would more often than not bring in company, pretty girls on each arm. Stunning like the flowers surrounding them. It didn’t surprise her being as dashing as the brothers were, it was more of the question of why she hadn’t seen any damsels til now.

But never Ravi.

--

“You seem awfully chipper,” says her mother with a smirk one night while their eating dinner in their small apartment. Did she? She couldn’t tell, really. Mama takes a sip of red wine, lipstick smudging the edge of the glass.

“Maybe I should stay home sick more often? Gives you good responsibility to run the shop on your own, too.”

--

With mama doing just that, Ravi comes in more often and it sets fire to her blood. The young man is plucking at her heartstrings like a well tuned bass, for Christ’s sake. She finds herself humming a tune throughout the days, clipping stems and fixing up arrangements while he watches.

Little bird, he’d call her. His little bird.

--

He asks her out for a night of dinner and dancing one evening. She obliges almost too enthusiastically, nearly choking on her own saliva when his eyes heat up at her answer. That night, she tells mama she’s going out with a couple of girlfriends.

They eat out at a black tie restaurant on the other side of town, a bottle of champagne between them. The violinist plays a sophisticated tune as a white-gloved waiter approaches and offers her another drink, to which she politely accepts. An array of silverware sits on the table in front of her. She carefully, discretely studies Ravi as he picks a fork from the outside. She has absolutely no idea what she’s doing.

“Do you take all your other girls to this place?” she asks jokingly into her champagne flute. He looks up from the prime rib he’s cutting into, pausing.

“There are no other girls.” he responds plainly, intonation falling at the end of his sentence like he can’t comprehend why she would be asking something like that. She stares back. Was that why he was always alone, had no girl?

“Oh,” is all she says, the blush matching the color of her satin lipstick. He doesn’t fire back with a snarky remark, just smiles softly and that makes it that much harder to breathe. She finishes the rest of her steamed vegetables, the only thing she could pronounce on the entire menu.

Coffee and dessert soon follow and that’s when she can’t bear it any longer.

“Ravi, let’s ditch.” she says with her lips twisted to one side. He an eyebrow at her in surprise.

“You don’t like it here?”

“Y-no, no. It’s wonderful. Just a bit too stiff-collared here, don’t you think?”

His eyes flicker over her and this time a sly smile plays at his mouth.

“You wanna cut loose, baby doll?”

She nods with pure giddy and he slaps down some bills on the table along with his napkin.

They enter the closest diner they can find and order some hamburgers and a shake to split. It’s oddly hilarious to be out with such a loaded young man, ordering cheap grub at a food stand like this. The poor kid at the counter with far too many spots on his face even eyes the two of them over his thick glasses. The two obviously looked out of place.

They scout out a dance hall just a few blocks down and have the time of their lives. The band knows just what songs to play, fast and lively and a vocalist with some killer pipes. A smoky room and buzzed adrenaline, kicking up her heels to the swing jazz and having a partner that knows just how to move with her makes her want this night to last for all eternity.

They take a quick break outside for a breath of fresh air and that's when he kisses her softly, fitting her lips against his, crowding her against the cool stone of the alleyway wall. Hands resting on the slim curve of her waist when they break apart, eyes searching hers, only to have her use the lapel of his suit to pull him back to her. His lips tasting like the echo of cigarette smoke and the fruity drinks they had shared earlier that evening.

It’s wonderful. It’s madness. It’s everything she's ever wanted.

--

She learns that Ravi is an artist. There was a certain aura that had hinted this to her prior. His tenderness whenever they were alone, his reflective side. But it’s confirmed when he unconsciously starts sketching on a napkin at the diner one night.

His hand works quickly as he excitedly tells her about the latest Mets game, (she had particularly little interest in baseball but she liked seeing him talk about something he enjoyed) penciling in shadow and shading. He gets flustered when he notices she's watching him carefully and starts to crumple up the napkin.

“Hey! Let me see,”

He doesn’t stop her as she smoothes out the paper with her fingertips. A proud doberman pinscher looks back at her, ears perked and alert.

“Holy smokes..”

“I-It’s nothing..”

She laughs in disbelief and leans back into the plush seating of the booth. “Yeah, sure, hotshot. Is that your dog?”

He nods and his shyness gradually starts to seep in as he twirls his pencil. “Yeah. That’s Cerberus. He’s one of my best friends.”

She hums with a smile, intrigued, “When did you pick up that little party trick? That ain't nothing. You're good at it, Ravi.”

His demeanor quickly changes, almost to anxiousness and she notices him shift in his seat, “I had a lot of downtime after the war.” He says.

The sudden weight of his answer hits her full on like a train. It wipes the smile clean off her face.

“You served?” her voice is soft, knowing she's treading on thin ice. He nods again slowly.

“Two tours in the Royal Air Force.”

He gently motions for the sketch and she slides it back across the tabletop. He flips over the napkin and his hand moves slowly, another drawing already starting to take form.

“It helps me keep my mind off things,”

--

One rainy evening, identical to the night they first met, Ravi invites her back to his studio. It’s a rather cold and open house veined with long, empty corridors.

“Do your brothers stay elsewhere?” she asks after he takes her coat and notices the silence. Ravi hangs it up.

“Yes. Ken and Leo each have their own place.”

She hums in acknowledgement as she follows him through the house. Their steps echo hollowly and bounce off the high ceiling as he takes her hand, leading her at arm's length. It’s a simple home decorated tastefully plain with walls splashed with dark paint and lush curtains.

His den is her favorite. Huge, floor to ceiling stained glass windows with a drawing easel set up right in front of it. The smell of fresh clay and paint mingle and fill her nose, half finished busts and canvases propped up to dry.

Sensing a presence in the room, Cerberus perks up and bounds over to Ravi. Tail wagging, tongue lolling out excitedly, he peppers the two of them with wet kisses.

“Down, boy!” Ravi laughs as Cerberus yaps and playfully jumps up onto her.

It’s later when she’s sitting down on the sofa petting Cerberus that she notices the graphic sketches tacked on the walls. Pencilings of brothers in combat, cities on fire.

The horrors of war.

It’s quiet between them as she listens to the rain pattering against the glass, musing quietly as she studies the sketches. Ravi clears his throat then.

“Would you mind being my subject for a portrait?” his voice is soft and curious. She turns to him. Immediately he starts to fluster, taking the action as apathy. “I’ve been dying to draw you- I..I-I mean, you have such a stunning profile and I..ugh. . That all came out weird.”

She laughs and gives Cerberus a scratch between the ears. “I’d love to.”

--

He gives her one of his white dress shirts to wear, pulling it over her so that it falls over her slender frame. He leaves the last few buttons undone and adjusts her hair before going back over to his easel.

The sound of pencil against paper and piano chords from the radio. Cerberus naps beside her.

“Are you nervous?”

“Are you drawing me with a unibrow?”

Laughter. His face peeks out from behind the canvas.

“You sure you’ve never done this before? You’re a natural.”

She breaks her pose to glance back at him over a bare shoulder. Her cheeks burn and his features harden with concentration as he continues to work, occasional small talk flowing between them. She feels so comfortable she nearly forgets what Ravi is doing until he calls her name.

“What do you think?” he asks and turns the easel towards her.

The portrait is drawn beautifully with her looking off to the side, looking pensive and deep in thought. His detail is exquisite, right down to the eyelashes fanned over blushing cheeks and freckles sprinkled over her nose. Her hair falls in soft ringlets, framed by a crown of white roses he had drawn from memory, now woven through her hair.

“Ravi, this is wonderful. You made me look so..beautiful.”

She goes to stand next to him as she studies the canvas, tracing the shadings in pencil. He chuckles and she feels his breath ghost over the back of her neck.

“You’re already beautiful, darling.”

He turns her around in his arms and steals a kiss that takes her breath away.

“I want you to keep it.” he murmurs and smiles against her lips, hands cradling her face.

She sighs in euphoria and teasingly taps a finger against his chest.

“Only if I can keep you.”

--

They spend the night in the studio. With a soft goodbye and a quick kiss to a still dozing Ravi, she manages to sneak back home, change, and make it back to the flower shop before her opening shift.

She doesn't forget to slip the folded up paper of the portrait into her dress pocket. She smooths out her hair and uniform when her mother steps through the door.

Business is rather slow that day, as it should be now that winter is just around the corner. But she feels like she’s enveloped by a summer wind.

--

It had been a stupid mistake. She had left the portrait on the counter one night while she and her mother closed up shop. Her mother swipes up the paper thinking it’s a receipt. She freezes.

“What’s this?” Her mama’s tone is curious. She scans over the drawing in interest, a hint of a smile on her lips at seeing a beautiful portrait of her daughter. That's all before the smile disappears and the laughter in her eyes dies out.

“Who drew this?”

She doesn't answer, only looks to the linoleum floor. Her mother starts to press harder as anger slowly starts to consume her.

“Persephone, don't tell me you've been sneaking around with that boy behind my back...”  her tone is dangerously icy, cutting into her like shards of glass.

“His name is Ravi,” Persephone finishes.

The sound of crisp tearing as the paper is torn to shreds. Her heart shatters.

“I told you to listen to me, Persephone. How could you break my trust like that?”

She feels tears start to well up in her eyes. “You only told me he's trouble, but why? These days, nearly all the boys are coming back home battered from war. Including him. He's just like everyone else.”

Her mother let's out a pent up breath and runs a hand through her hair.

“That's not what I'm talking about. His family is...damaged. God, you're lucky you didn't get yourself killed!” she says and harshly stubs out the cigarette she had been smoking. “You don't even realize what kind of man his father is, do you?”

It dawns on Persephone that while she had grown immensely close with the three brothers, she had never met or even heard of said father. She bites her lip.

“I guess not.”

She hears her mother sigh tiredly, like all rage has been drained out of her. “They call themselves the Big Three,” she starts, “a crime trio, a syndicate, controlled by their father. They're hit men. When they came by, I thought they were here collecting payment. I've heard word that they've settled for good around here.”

A pit starts to form in the girl’s stomach. Not of dread, however. One that peaks interest.

--

The next time they meet, she asks him about his identity. He tells her about how his father had taken advantage of his war torn self and forcefully thrown him back into combat. But instead of bullets and gunfire and fighting on foreign soil, he was now up against the corrupt and greed stricken on his own homeland, taking out mob bosses and the like.

“You aren't scared of me, sweetheart?” he whispers into her neck, lips running over , “you aren't afraid of the things I've done?”

An intimate challenge. She shakes her head as she struggles to catch her breath. She hears him chuckle lowly.

“Good,”

--

Ravi has nightmares. One night, she’s pulled from sleep by his whimpers, sweat glistening on his forehead in the moonlight. Mumbling and mumbling. She quickly sits upright and starts to shake him by the shoulders.

She hears him gasp and cry out. “No, no. Stay with me,” he rasps. Her heart starts to hammer in her chest as he continues to struggle against the sheets. His eyes finally fly open when she calls his name in a choked voice and he takes her in his arms, his face wet with tears.

“It’s not real. It’s not real.” Ravi cries, “I’m home now. I’m safe.”

He repeats it like a mantra. In that single moment, she can sense the sheer terror rolling off of him in waves.

She had heard about it on the radio after the soldiers had come home. Bombs with enough firepower to obliterate entire cities, and new technologies that had ignited the atmosphere itself in the far east. And as Ravi sits trembling in front of her, she knows that death has taken its toll.

“I can’t stand killing. I can’t kill anymore.”

--

She grows accustomed to the comfortable weight of his body in the bed they share, his faint floral scent mixed with gunpowder that lingers on his skin.

Persephone knows she’s breaking her mother’s heart. It’s that motherly intuition in her eyes that knows she still hasn’t stopped seeing Ravi. But somehow she stops pestering, perhaps finally understanding where her daughter’s heart truly lies.

--

“I’m worried that I’m coming between you and your mother.” Ravi sighs into her hair one evening in the studio. They sit on the sofa, curled up into each other, a Frank Sinatra ballad playing to fill the ambience. She looks up at him through her lashes.

“Why do you say that?”

“You spend so much time here with me. Not that that’s a bad thing, sweetheart. You know exactly what you do to me.” He tilts his head to one side and pauses for a heartbeat. “Just think of it from her perspective. You’re all she has, right? Maybe it would be best to devote some of that time to her, you know?”

Guilt. The weight of it all comes crashing down on her and she lets out a defeated sigh.

“Persephone, I-I’m sorry. It’s not my place, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” she answers, “it’s okay, you’re right. I didn’t think about it like that.”

It’s true, she obviously hadn’t, present in the way she snuck out practically every night to see him. Her mother is only trying to look after her. It’s what they do.

“How about this, let’s make a deal.” she muses and leans into him. “I stay with you until the end of winter, our shop is closed during the cold months anyway. Then, I’ll go back in spring once we start getting orders again and live with my mother. That way, nobody will be left out.”

He turns to look at her with a smug grin. “I’m certainly okay with that. And at least I get to keep you for another month.”

“Unless I decide to take Cerberus and make a run for it,” she mocks and rolls her eyes. He pretends to glare at her.

“You can’t take my dog.”

They share another laugh before Ravi stops and quickly excuses himself, saying he needs to go retrieve something. He comes back minutes later with a bottle and two wine glasses.

“A toast,” he says at her surprised expression, “to celebrate the deal.”

He pours themselves a generous amount of the crimson liquid. She brings it to her lips, noting the fruity and woodsy notes. The wine has barely passed down as Ravi quickly presses his mouth to hers.

“You taste like pomegranates,” he breathes.

They kiss until it’s gone and then some.