» The Mistakes of One's Forebears, [tag: Persephone]

[Adrasteia]

She walked in from the city's gates, not because she had to, but because occasionally the goddess enjoyed a good walk. The destruction she'd rained down on the city all those years ago was still evident around her, although it was clearly not fresh or new. Moss had overtaken much of the fallen rubble, and the mist had seemed to spread everywhere. Her sharp eyes could still make out much of the scenery around her, although it was slightly foggy. She was not half as impeded as a human would be in similar conditions. The mist itself swirled gently around the goddess' robe, touching her with the familiar gentleness of an old friend, for Adrasteia, indeed, had few of those. Even back on Olympus, she hadn't been the sort of make "friends" with anyone. Good acquaintances, perhaps, or even allies, but there wasn't many back there that she spoke with for the sheer enjoyment of it. Here, she had the Mist, and, of course, Vasilissa. The Bone Witch was far too clever for her own good, but despite Adrasteia's notions of human cleverness, she found Vasilissa's brusque honesty and biting wit to be very refreshing. The Mist was a gentler sort, one that was as old as the October Country. Despite being younger than, say, elves or some of the Faery, it nonetheless maintained a wise, soft, and amused outlook of the world it inhabited. She did not go to the Mist for conversation, but rather just for silent companionship.

So even as her view of the world went hazy from the Mist, she could still tell where everything was. Other creatures might find it disorienting, even some of the lesser gods, but never Adrasteia. This is an odd place for you to be, said the Mist. Well, the Mist didn't actually speak to her. It was hard to explain what the Mist did, but she felt the thought in her head and knew it to be alien; not hers. It was said in a form of commentary, although Adrasteia knew that it was curious as to her motives. Just in the habit of giving gentle reminders, now, she responded to it. Immediately, it knew what she was talking about, for the Mist had a long memory. The tendrils of thought withdrew from her mind, and Adrasteia realized that she'd made it to the Altar of Elysium. "Hm," she murmured, not for any particular reason. Smiling and tucking a strand of fiery red hair behind an ear, she took to the steps of the church, her eyes straight ahead and not upwards at the looming top of the building. Although human-sized, she was not going to be intimidated by an abandoned old building. Or rather, nearly abandoned.

She knew that Persephone had been haunting the place as of late, for the Mist had updated her on it. Although she'd been happy to allow Persephone to continue to reside in the October Country after Demeter's disgraceful conduct, but Persephone was used to being co-ruler of her own plane, and she did not want the goddess to get lofty aspirations here in the October Country. Although she wasn't sure how Persephone planned on doing that in a human-less city, it was still enough to urge her to visit the Goddess of the Underworld for a friendly little reminder. Adrasteia placed a hand on the door of the church, and it swung open with no resistance, and after she stepped in, it fell shut softly behind her. Her blue eyes drifted around the large cathedral curiously, just to take in any new developments since she'd last been there. Other than another window pane having been broken, nothing was different. Perhaps there was more dust on everything than before, but it was honestly hard to tell at this point, since it had been a fair amount already. Adrasteia walked through the rotting remains of the pews and made for the front of the Altar of Elysium, her stride slow and confident. Persephone would probably have sensed her presence immediately, and if not the Goddess, then her beast certainly would have. When she reached the altar and the place of sacrifice, an ironic smile curved the goddess' mouth as she traced a line through the dust. The bigger you get, the harder you fall, after all. Persephone, she was sure, was reasonable, and all in all, the Goddess of the Underworld had taken to haunting a monument of her mother's biggest mistake.

[Persephone]

There was something comforting about the Ruins of Is. Saturated by the smell of death and decay and inhabited by the Mist, it felt a bit like the Underworld had when Persephone lived there all those years ago. It was a solemn place, a place without joy or life, but like the Underworld with its graceful rivers and lush gardens, this place was not without its beauty. The moss added a softness to what remained of the structures. And the ruins themselves created mysterious patterns across the skyline that tricked the eye into seeing things that weren't really there. She was rarely fooled by them, but she could understand why the humans refused to come here. They were easily frightened, nervous creatures who, for the most part, were well aware of their own frailty against many of the other forces who shared their reality. She pitied them, really. She always had. Their shades would tremble as they entered her realm, and when they learned that she was the Goddess of the Underworld, they almost invariably believed she would kill them all over again. She had to be very careful around them to gain their trust, and never did they give it to her completely. This was something that pained her when she first took her throne in the Underworld, and over time, when she had resigned to her position, it still remained a great regret.

Her relief came in the Spring, when she visited her mother, Demeter. Then, Persephone was honored alongside her. Although her mother received most of the praise for bringing on the new life of the season, most understood that it was done with Persephone's help, or the Kore, as they used to call her. Few of them knew that she had anything to do with the death that would inevitably follow. She had always wanted to break away from Hades and spend her life bringing happiness and hope to the mortals. When she ran away to the October Country, and her mother followed, she believed that her opportunity had finally come. And indeed it had, for a while. Her mother was one of the most revered Goddesses of Is, and Persphone enjoyed her part in it. The worshippers, the alters, the sacrifices, all of them were in honor of her mother and the Kore, who helped make it possible.

Persephone arrived at the steps of the now-ruined Alter of Elysium with Cerberus at her side. This was the place where she had been worshipped, but now, it was nothing. Now, she longed even for the fear and respect she earned in the Underworld. But as it was, she was little more than the remnant of a forgotten religion. She needed to remember what it was like again, and this was the only place where it all truly came back to her. Before she entered, she looked up at the few spires that were still left intact on the roof of the ancient church. They pierced the sky with their presence, still remaining after all these years, the highest points in the city. She traced them down with her eyes to the engravings along the roofline. They were pictures of the humans and their favorite goddess enjoying the fruits of their labor together. These images were carved deep into the stone and could still be clearly seen, even though they were chipped in some places and covered in moss.

She began to move her eyes down further to the decorative windows, when she noticed Cerberus was becoming uneasy. At first he only paced a little in front of her. Persephone noticed it subconsciously, but paid no attention to it. Then he started to make low, subtle growls, first with one head, then two, then all three. Persephone looked down at her companion a bit puzzled. She definitely felt a presence there, but it was only the Mist. The Mist was always there, and Cerberus was used to it by now. Was there something more?

"What is it, friend?" she asked him. That's when his central, most dominant head bayed at the church door and the fur on his back bristled up. The other heads continued their low growls.

Persephone feared little, especially while she had Cerberus with her, but the unknown always made her nervous. She approached the door slowly, keeping Cerberus close-by, and pushed it open gently. She allowed Cerberus to enter first, knowing that whoever was there would likely not try to get past him. As expected, all three of his heads started to bark as soon as they saw someone in there, but only for a moment. When they had identified their visitor, they began to whine mildly and circled around nervously, careful not to raise their eyes to whoever it was that stood inside.

Persephone hesitated before she followed him in. That was odd behavior, and she wasn't sure what to make of it. She tried to get a feel for any presence that might have been there, but initially, all she could sense was the Mist. But after a moment, Persephone felt her. It was Adrasteia. Persephone's brow furrowed. It was not because she disliked the Goddess, but because after what had happened between her and Demeter, Persephone had always felt an uneasiness around her; she felt distrusted. Now, this uneasiness had found its way into the one place where Persephone felt she belonged, and she didn't want it ruined. She forced herself to soften her expression, then entered the church behind her mollified beast. Adrasteia was standing near her mother's alter. Persephone studied her for a moment, then she said as courtiously as she could, "Adrasteia, it's an honor to see you here in my mother's sanctuary. What brings you to this place?"

[Adrasteia]

Adrasteia wiped the dust she'd collected on her forefinger onto her thumb, spreading it around and noting the color. She appeared bored, although she was not; she was already planning what it was that she wanted to say to the younger Goddess. She raised her gaze to a window above the alter, attracted by movement. The window was clear and mostly intact, and the mist outside seemed to swirl and thicken, a silent signal that the Nemesis' quarry was approaching. She turned to the door, hearing the soft rumble of growling outside and then the loud, whooping bark of a dog's alarm -- Cerberus had obviously not detected who it was inside the Altar of Elysium, yet. A tendril of vibrantly red hair slipped into Adrasteia's field of vision, and she calmly but quickly tucked it behind her ear as she waited for Persephone to enter. Cerberus came first, a smart move that might have offended a more uppity goddess. As it was, Adrasteia was simply amused. Although the three-headed hellhound began to bark ferociously when it made out her figure, it soon fell quiet and dropped all three of its gazes. It was not a dumb thing, the hound.

The Goddess of the Underworld's immediate reaction wasn't as heartening as it could have been. Adrasteia could sense an a distinct wariness in the air between them, although she chose not to address it directly. Instead, she let a placid smile warm the harsh lines of her face a bit, which seemed to spur further reaction from the younger goddess. The words weren't as comforting as the redhead would have liked -- although it could have simply been a way to honor her mother's memory, Adrasteia didn't like that Persephone chose to call the Altar of Elysium Demeter's sanctuary in present tense. Thankfully, it was cushioned by Persephone's polite tone and correct addressal of Adrasteia's station -- although the Nemesis abided less and less by the old rules as time went on, in situations of potential conflict, it was always good to err on the polite side of the spectrum.

A part of her wanted to question the use of present tense, but Adrasteia sensed that it would be far too nitpicky this early in the conversation. Although she hated to be reminded of Demeter's almost-take-over, she chose to be polite, as well. "It is a beautiful and peaceful place," she answered, nodding her head gently to signify that she'd noted Persephone's proper conduct. After all, it was the girl's mother -- and the mother had been cast out into the worshipper-less wastes of Earth. Unless she'd found someone else to leech off of, or a pocket of Demeter-worshipping peasants or something, it was likely that she was little more than a whisper on the wind. Gods that lost that much of themselves were a sad sight. Some of them would just float around by themselves, shapeless, and whisper all the memories of their power and prestige to themselves. Others forgot who they were entirely. "It speaks of your mother's good taste." A safe phrase, without any hidden references to past or present tense. She didn't want to start the whole thing off on the wrong foot.

"You've been spending a lot of time here, Persephone," Adrasteia began, take a few steps towards the goddess and her hound. She threaded her fingers loosely in front of her, letting Cerberus know that she wasn't initiating an attack on anyone. Although Cerberus had been quick to drop his aggressive behavior just a minute ago, she wasn't willing to bet on the fact that he'd sit idly by while Adrasteia tore his mistress to pieces or anything. "Why? There are no people here, not anymore." The obvious implication of this was that Gods tended to congregate where people were, out of an innate desire for worshippers.

Her face was still mostly serene, although this wasn't horribly comforting. The Nemesis was well-known for being calm of face and disposition as she punished man for his endless amount of hubris. It only added to her reputation for being implacable. She didn't think Persephone was particularly dumb, so it was probably that the goddess knew where Adrasteia was headed with this conversation. Although Adrasteia was the very picture of tolerance and peace at the moment, Persephone no doubt knew what the Nemesis looked like when crossed -- few did, nowadays, since the last time that had happened had been during the Fall of Is. Oh, the humans told each other stories about it, of course, but she was fairly sure that it was nothing compared to seeing the real thing. "Sometimes I'm too late to stop things that need to be stopped before they blossom out of control," the redheaded goddess murmured, her eyes a piercing blue even in the dim lighting of the church. "But I seldom make mistakes twice, unless, of course, a couple millenia have passed since the initial one." Sighing softly, she dropped her eyes to Cerberus for a second, collecting her thoughts, before continuing on. "I do not get the feeling that you are a repeater of mistakes, either. There are temples in Zenith that gods make use of. You could do similarly. What I wonder is why you do not."

[Persephone]

Persephone became a bit uneasy as the Goddess approached her. Even Cerberus began to shift in his place, not quite certain if he appreciated her new proximity. The hound wouldn't dare attack unless Persephone commanded him to do so, or if she was in immediate danger, but she still reached down and stroked his dominant head, giving reassurance to both him and herself. Persephone knew that she had done no wrong by visiting here, but that would be irrelevant if Adrasteia took offense to it. She was not surprised when the Goddess asked her why she was there, even without worshippers.

"I'm not here for the worshippers," she said plainly. But this didn't seem to put Adrasteia at ease. In fact, it appeared to make her more defensive, as she made it a point to remind Persephone of her mother's fall. The corner of Persephone's mouth curled slightly with the satisfaction of knowing that even this Goddess feared something. The suggestion of creating her own temple at Zenith made her laugh inwardly.

"You know I've never been one to have my own following," she said. "The people here don't dare worship Demeter and her Kore anymore, and they've always feared me in the Underworld. Since when did I require worshippers?" Persephone turned away and strolled around the alter for a moment, gazing at the giant pillars, and ornamental arches that were no less impressive in their neglected state than they were in their days of glory. No, she never needed the worshippers, but there was always a sense of pride when she walked into a building as magnificent as this and realized that the frail, simple humans had devoted so much time, energy, and in some cases, blood to her honor. Of course, she had to share this honor with her mother, but there was certainly enough to go around. The worshippers who built this sanctuary may have been long dead, but the significance of their deed was not lost, nor forgotten.

Persephone knew better than to disclose all of this to Adrasteia, even if the Goddess may have already suspected it. When she returned to her original place, she reached down once again to stroke her faithful friend's fur. "I'm here to honor my mother's memory," she finally said. "She's not been allowed in your beautiful country for many, many years, and if I were to go back to Earth to see her, Hades would snatch me back into his realm for sure. Where else can I go feel her again?" And to feel the glory that once was theirs, but this was something best kept to herself.

[Adrasteia]

She listened to Persephone speak, and tried to ascertain whether there was bitterness to the Goddess' tone or not. Certainly she had reason to be bitter, since her mother had been cast out and had probably wasted away to nothing out in the great expanse of Earth, but that did not mean that Adrasteia would afford her the right to the feeling. Persephone had been present alongside Demeter's betrayal, and had done nothing to put a stop to it herself -- although the Nemesis could understand the reasons behind this, it did not mean that she could forgive Persephone for it. She wasn't afraid of Persephone, and had never truly been afraid of Demeter -- Demeter had never truly known what she was up against when she started on her foolhardy path. Perhaps she'd always been witless, or perhaps the power had made her forget the basic rules of existence, but only a foolish God ever tried to wrest power within the realm of another. If Hades had come to the October Country, Adrasteia would have struck him down if he'd done what Demeter had done... similarly, Adrasteia wouldn't have expected him to let her leave in one whole piece if she'd confronted him in the Underworld. It was just the way things were, and even if Demeter had forgotten, no other Goddess with half a mind would.

What Adrasteia did not want was another episode that echoed the first. Humans had died in her rage and had been cast from the October Country without living through their second chance at existence like they were supposed to. It had made a muddle of things. However, the mortals had finally forgotten it. As far as she knew, only the Elves retained a copy of that section of the October Country's history, and she knew that Morsigil would not be so ignorant as to loan it out to everyone or something. Persephone had no doubt known that Adrasteia's anger had extended to her, if not simply because the Goddess had made a point of ignoring the younger Goddess except for what was necessary to keep an eye on her. Although she hadn't condemned Persephone back to Earth, and thus to Hades' keeping, it could very well be a possibility if Persephone followed in her mother's path. Beyond that, Adrasteia knew that she would not have been blamed if she'd made Persephone share in her mother's fate, but she had chosen not to do so, thinking Persephone young and simply biddable. She hadn't thought that Persephone's more minor crime had warranted a ban.

"Here, no god requires worshippers," she responded, her eyes following Persephone's walk placidly. "But they're nice to have. With or withour your mother, you were worshipped for a time by farmers, both on Earth and here. You could take that place again." It was an invitation that might have come as a surprise to Persephone, for right after the Fall of Is, Adrasteia had probably made it clear that Persephone was not in a favorable position to retain worshippers, had she chosen to do so. Finally, Persephone returned to the front of Adrasteia, ending her meandering words with a nice little speech. It was convincing and probably true enough, but not enough to placate the red-headed Goddess. "Well enough," she said, not addressing much of anything that Persephone chose to say in that last piece. There wasn't much she could say. An apology would be a lie, and a demand for further information might result in Persephone lying to her, something that Adrasteia didn't want to get either of them muddled in. Realizing that the polite mannerisms of this conversation were getting them nowhere, she changed tactics.

"You are aware that I've been upset with you by proxy of your mother for quite some time," she stated, bluntly but without menace. It seemed more as though she were rehearsing a tired, well-known fact. It wasn't something that was backed up by an emotion. "But you were not punished alongside her. I don't think you will try to follow her path." There was a faint warning note to the statement, although it remained a statement. "It is my hope that we can be on a level of accord with each other for the remainder of our time in this place. But your self-imposed solitude marks you seperately from the other Gods and Goddesses, here, and the difference forces me to wonder if I can trust you as placidly and easily as I trust them." Her speech finished, she shifted so that her body was not angled so directly at the younger Goddess, and glanced up at the ruined ceiling of a once-great building. She knew quite well that glory had existed here, that fevered worship had made this place what it was. She didn't know Persephone's feelings on it, but she had no reason to believe that Persephone felt nothing. "I do have reason to trust you, Persephone?"

[Persephone]

Persephone took careful note of the warning that was in Adrasteia's tone. Indeed, she remembered the day of her mother's fall in vivid detail. It was a horrific day, but not one that was unforseen. Persephone knew of her mother's pride, and she knew its foolishness. She had even given her warnings against it, but her mother had never been like the other deity. She had always set herself apart from them and seemed to believe that what applied to them did not necessarily apply to herself. This was why she spent so much time on Earth while the others were in Olympus. This was why, when another god showed interest in her daughter, she thought she would be able to hide her away and keep her from them forever. That hubris had harmed Persephone on Earth when she was captured by Hades. Now it had harmed her again, by making her forever suspect in the eyes of the Goddess who ruled this land, the only land she was able to safely dwell in anymore.

So, when Adrasteia asked why she insisted on solitude, Persephone was prepared to answer. "The reason I behave so differently from the others is because I am different," she explained. I've always lived in solitude. From the time I was very young, I was separated from the rest of the Pantheon, keeping company with nymphs and forced to share my glory in the shadow of my mother. Then I was taken by Hades and bound to the Underworld, where no one worshipped me. They only feared me. Now I live here, where the humans remember what became of their beloved Goddess, and so they are afraid to pay me much mind. It is as though my former lives have combined: worship mixed with fear. This brings me back to solitude once again. Solituded is where I've always abided, and solitude is where I'm most comfortable. Of course, I would enjoy their worship, but their passive respect of me is all I require for their sakes."

She paused for a moment, allowing Adrasteia to consider what she had just said, wondering if any of it surprised her. Almost against her will, a smile crept across her face. "Trust me, High Goddess, the humans haven't forgotten. They just don't dare speak of it in the open. They tell their children, late at night with their windows closed and doors locked, as a warning to them. Some grow up to believe it's only a moralistic myth to warn them of hubris, while others...still believe."