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Creating living things has never been one of Hades’ fortes. There’s too many sticky details to get caught and entangled in -- an errant thought away from a miserable accident. At least buildings and the inanimate cannot feel or think. It’s much easier, much cleaner to fix a mistake in architecture.
Leave the new life to those with a passion for it.
Like Persephone. She is always bringing him new concepts, letters so gleeful and colourful as to make him feel dizzy with the animation with which she speaks. And of course, he is never too busy to listen to her excitedly chatter across the bond, detailing a brand new creature that may never see the light of day, simply to exist as a concept in limbo. But it still gave her joy to think of it.
Albeit today, she has been -- perhaps oddly quiet. Typically she will check in on him intermittently throughout the day, a welcome respite from his duties. But today...the bond, her presence has been silent. He has not even seen her glow through the windows of his room at the bureau. It almost makes him want to pull at their link and ask if something is the matter, but the thought of disturbing her makes him pause.
All the better for it, perhaps, for suddenly he hears his name floating across from from voice he is so fond of.
“Hades! Where are you? I have something to show you!”
Despite himself, and despite not even seeing her, engrossed in the glow of his small buildings, the miniature of Amaurot, he can feel his lips curve at the delight that conveys itself through her telepathic speech.
“In my office. What is it?”
Instead of replying, the bond goes silent once more. The door opens a few minutes later, the woman gliding into the room with quick steps, a pot clutched in her hands. A pot -- of flowers, a kind he has never before seen.
But he has not ever been as enamoured with plants as her. Perhaps it is simply one he has not laid eyes upon.
“I -- I made these! Thinking...of you.” The smile that spreads across her face is bright enough to rival that of the sun. For a moment, Hades does not understand her words.
She -- made them? Thinking about him?
That sensation that so oft makes itself known around her settles in his chest. He does not dislike it. But it makes his throat tighten and his eyes burn as he glances from her to the pot of flowers she now gently places upon the corner of his desk.
Does she mean to imply these have never existed before -- until she had formed them out of nothing? And thought of him, whilst doing so? A living plant created from her...thoughts of him?
Swallowing, Hades looks toward the flowers more carefully. Delicate purple and white blossoms sprawl across a thick and strong-looking stalk of green. When he leans in, he can smell something that -- oddly reminds him of chocolate.
“And -- and I can make different colours, as well!” Persephone lightly trails a thin finger along the rim of the plant’s pot. “With a different scent, if it pleases you. But -- I thought...hoped, you might like this one, too.”
Still wordless and voiceless, he lifts a hand to touch one of the thick petals. The entire plant quivers like a creature with life.
A living organism.
“I -- I adore it. As I do you.”
It is still difficult to look at her, for some reason, but he doesn’t need to meet her gaze when she draws close to him and wraps her arms about him gently.
________
Narrowing his eyes, Hades all but glares at the pot in front of him as he wracks his mind, trying to think back to his Akadaemia years. He had made so many...things. Mostly with Persephone, of course...
But still. At least part of those projects had been his. So...there should be nothing different about...making this.
“Why are you making a plant, Hades?” Hyth asks from somewhere behind him as he pops a grape in his mouth. “Never pegged you as the sort to be interested in that.”
“...For Persephone.”
“Ah, well...good luck with that.” His “best friend” gives a mild guffaw. Hades feels one of his eyebrows twitch, but decides not to mention it. “Why not just give her a pretty pot of those ones?” He doubtlessly gestures toward an already potted plant, but Hades shakes his head.
“She made me...flowers. So -- I would like to do the same.”
He’d hoped that being in the gardens would help...ground him, that seeing the other flowers would prime him to create something...just as she had. Though -- it’s not just as simple as thinking about making a plant, which in itself is not truly that simple at all. He also has to think about her...her voice, her scent, the way her hand feels in his, their flesh pressed together, their hours upon hours of discussing and theorising in their rooms, the very way she seems to seep peace into the room...
Closing his eyes, he draws his hands together above the soil of his pot, pouring magic into the sediment. Feeling something beginning to brush at his fingers, he moves his hands aside, but continues to try to create, wishing beyond all that what he makes will be able to show her his love for her, just as the beauty of those flowers she had gifted him show him hers.
When he opens his eyes, heart full of hope, he feels it crashing to the ground instantly upon seeing what he’s managed to make.
The flower is large, certainly, and bright and vibrant. But it is not very flowerlike at all. Its petals are sharp and mechanical, like the harsh edges of a building sketch. It’s not at all like the elegant blossoms Persephone had gifted him. It’s...cold.
He hears Hythlodaeus shambling up near him, peering at his creation with a tilted head.
“...It’s sharp and edged, just like you.”
His jaw clenches, knowing it to be true, yet not wanting to hear it. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Hyth. Why are you here, anyway?”
“Ah...” He clears his throat, rubs a hand at the back of his hood. “Petri wanted to look at some of the flowers.”
Hades glances up for a moment, watching another cloaked figure in a purple hue as they look up at one tall, red, flowering plant.
“Why are you bothering me, then? Shoo.”
“I was curious...!”
________
Hades does not want her pity.
He’s almost certain she will say she likes it even if that emotion does not truly bud in her chest. A poor attempt at something in kind for her -- she is the sort of person who would accept it even as she looks it to be something lesser.
Yet all his other attempts had gone even more poorly than this first one. He understands now why she must have been so silent and unresponsive that day. How many tries had it taken her to make something she was satisfied with?
-- One? Since she had said she had experimented with colours and aromas...that had to mean she had been satisfied with the general blueprint of her creation from the very first...
His stomach feels heavy with stones. He almost doesn’t notice that he has stopped in front of her office. He’d entirely forgotten to ask her if she was even here, too --
But she is. He knows from the hue --
Swallowing, he opens the door to find her seated demurely in her workspace, at work on yet another concept, he’s sure. She looks up at him with concerned green eyes, perhaps already having sensed his discomfort across their link. He’s prepared for her pity.
“I -- thought of you when I made these, Persephone.” He holds out the pot for her to take.
Her wonder nearly takes him over all else. Her fingers brush his faintly as she reverently takes the pot from him, wordlessly gazing at the plant.
There’s no pity or sorrow, only pure, unadulterated joy, an underlying feeling of shock and awe. When she places the pot down and throws her arms ‘round his neck, he nearly stumbles back as he embraces her in turn.
She buries her face against his neck, the chill of her mask almost disguising the feeling of her tears dropping against his skin as her arms tighten around him.
“Thank you. I love them -- as I love you.”