They thought I’d been abducted. May be it’s best that’s what they believe.
How do you explain to the mother who has your entire life planned out, you weren’t the lily white daughter she had built all her hopes upon? When I saw her last I was a slender, young maiden with flowers in my hair. My cheeks would turn pink each time a boy so much as looked at me, my innocent sighs so charmingly executed.
Some days I still yearn for flowers, but wake up to find jet roses in my bed and at my feet. No longer the tender young thing, now I’m full, red and ripe. I have no use for sonnets or ribbons in my hair. I clothe myself in spider silk and shadow, and speak with the tongues of nightmares.
Mother would have had me wed to some milk faced boy, who would follow me around blindly and paw at me when the lights were turned out. I cannot see myself sitting idly in the sunlight, fanning myself and drinking watered wine. I’m addicted to the darkness, where I can submerge myself in the night and drag my fingernails across Deaths shoulders.
She had always talked about grandchildren, and it never occurred to me to disagree. How do I explain to her I find the cries of the dead far more pleasing than the thought of a whining child at my breast? I know she would be astounded to know, here in this place, I have no need to bow my head. I am much more than wife and the things I say are law.
Now that you have seen me and fulfilled your duty, return to her and if you wish, tell her I was afraid, that I begged him to release me and let me go back. Tell her I screamed when he held me down and forced me to submit. It’s for the best she doesn’t know my screams were not from fear.
By now, I’m sure she’s gone to Zeus begging for him to hasten my release. I’m pretty sure her cause is lost, you see, I swallowed much more than seeds that night. Mother will feel better if she thinks I grieve for those scattered blossoms, lost on Enna’s rolling hills. She must never know I have learned to love the taste of blood and I’m not going anywhere…