Work Text:
Daylight lingers in Persephone’s kitchen window.
She keeps it open on the latch, better to let the sunlight in.
On the stove, her cooking simmers on low heat, practically finished but for the fact that Grace is still asleep. Persephone covers what she can with lids left partially askew, cleans her hands at the sink, and uncorks the wine. It’s nothing special. Bold and red. True to her word, it will do, but this is not the part of her evening Persephone has been most looking forward to.
Glass in hand, she takes herself to the threshold of her own living space, and leans there to admire the view.
On one couch, boots kicked off and jacket slung over the arm behind her, Grace is sleeping.
Violet bruises beneath her eyes attest to just how well she’s been taking care of herself, while on the road, that Persephone is at war with waking her. It has been a long few months, and it is hardly over yet, but Persephone is remiss to think of that on the first evening she’s had Grace to herself in far too long.
How did her long life come to this, she wonders, not regretfully.
How could one person break her life so wonderfully apart.
Persephone looks at Grace and marvels.
God Liberator. World Destroyer.
The girl who accomplished more than an entire pantheon before her, and now— Now, she’s sleeping on Persephone’s couch. Snoring, faintly. Drooling, barely. Hair has curled into her eyes, her nose twitching from the tickle of it. Sunlight from the window stretches like a lazy cat across her barely exposed midriff, and Persephone envies it her closeness, smiling.
Oh, but she has made her soft, exposed her. Grace has seen the guts and gore of her and still wants her.
Persephone has seen the same, and she’s still hungry.
(She knows a thing or two about consumption.)
Though, perhaps not tonight.
Pressing off the doorjamb, Persephone takes her wine and all her tender thoughts back to the meal that she’s preparing.
She will give Grace ten more minutes, and then she'll wake her.