Work Text:
The meadow was a riot of color, sun-drunk blossoms tilting toward Persephone as if they’d been waiting all year just for her; butterflies flitted in slow, lazy arcs around her shoulders while birds sang soft melodies through the warm air.
Hades, awkwardly standing at the meadow’s edge like a shadow that had accidentally wandered into daylight, watched her kneel among the flowers and gently coax a bee from a tangled petal, her smile blooming wider than any flower when the small creature buzzed free.
When she finally turned to him, hair threaded with gold and warmth and life, she extended her hand without hesitation; and as he took it, the butterflies circled them both, the birds’ song reached a beautiful crescendo, and even the bees seemed to hum in approval … reminding him that the Underworld’s king could be claimed not by chains but by sunlight, beckoned not by riches or power but by slender fingers reaching out to touch the core of his very soul.