Persephone was back from the Underworld and Helios was working flat out pulling his yellow load across the sky. We lay near the river, languid and louche, loosening our garments and splashing each other when the heat grew too much.
A chill rose like a wraith from the ground and we heard the low growl of Cerberus. The Dark One rode his chariot into our bower. I shadowed in the ferns, but his black eyes fell on me.
Persephone gets all the sympathy. Any nymph will tell you that.
But when she found out what happened she lashed out at me, not the Dark One. She turned me into a plant to be trampled on until the end of time. Even today, the modern maidens drink their Mojitos and stab me with their stir-sticks, raising a glass to Persephone.
First published at Macrocosms on 22 May 2017.