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As he lowered to the ground, splattered with the blood of Zeus, he declared, “The King of the Gods is dead.” His words were followed by deafening cheers and a chant that dissolved his doubt. “All hail Theseus, King of the Gods.”
“I’ll meet you at the gates,” he said and then let him fall to the floor, dead.
She fell to her knees, her arms spread wide. Instead of power flowing from her, it flowed to her.
She screamed, her hands coming together, and in them she held Cronos’s power. Her body vibrated with it, a power she’d never experienced before, and with it, she wove a world for the Titan that was filled with his greatest fears.
Now she had room for hope. She had room for dreams.
“I am only trying to decide who I am now that the war is over,” she said. “You are Persephone,” he said. “You are my wife and my queen. You are everything to me.”
“I do not have children of my own,” Hecate said. “But you, I consider a daughter.”
“Hecate,” Persephone asked. “What is this?” “Your coronation,” the goddess said. “You are Queen of the Underworld, but you have not been crowned.”
“Forever,” she said. “Forever will never be enough,” he said. “Not when I have lived half my life without you.”
