Cora, the Destroyer

Persephone is running away again, and this time it's for good. When a wrong turn lands her in an unfamiliar city with Hades as a roommate she'll need to commit to her new life or flee.

Chapter I: The Things We Don't Talk About

Persephone dozed upright in her seat, lulled to drowsiness by the lethal combination of the plane, quietly droning on and on, and her mother's aide, quietly droning on and on. They'd had to leave Washington D.C. wretchedly early in the morning to be sure Demeter would be on time for her first appearance in Seattle, and last night Persephone had played the fool and stayed up watching Netflix for so long that she'd only gotten one of her mother's prescribed Eight Regular Hours. The minor rebellion was costing her dearly as she debated staying put, where she might be able to at least pretend it was just the early morning getting to her, or moving to one of the couches on the other side of the private jet and risking Demeter's suspicion. She had already been complaining for months that they used far too much broadband for a mother and daughter living alone; gods forbid she start wondering when and how that broadband was being used in the first place.

“Persephone?” someone said just next to her.

“What?” she mumbled, praying she wouldn't be asked to do anything that would require her to move, or speak any further, or think.

“We're landing in forty-five,” the woman continued in a quiet, confidential voice Persephone belatedly recognized. “Do you want to go up to the front bathroom and start getting ready?”

“What for?” Persephone asked, opening her eyes anyway to see Despoina looking down at her, all sincerity and unobtrusiveness, her light blonde hair braided carefully back, her shirt perfectly pressed as usual. Even the meticulously covered-up dark circles under her eyes somehow managed to look pretty and sympathetic.

“For the Benefit of the Nation,” Demeter cut in from the other side of the table, interrupting the aide mid-sentence so she could glare at her daughter. “A cause you don't seem to think counts for much this morning, since I haven't seen you touch the quarterly reports Dardanus sent in. You can waste four hours nodding off if you like, but it is NOT the kind of behavior I would expect from a woman running a successful international conglomerate.”

“I was going to review them later,” Persephone protested, avoiding her mother's eyes.

“When later? During the breakfast with the Washington State Board of Agriculture? The appearance on 'Ag Now' Radio? The lunch with the Governor?”

“Sorry, mother.”

“You need to be a quality resource if you want to earn your place on this team, Persephone. No one's going to give you anything, least of all me.”

“Yes, mother,” Persephone murmured, horrified to feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she looked away. She was used to being berated for her shortcomings, but she wasn't usually so susceptible to her mother's severity so early on in one of her daily lectures.

“Excuse me, Madam Secretary, but we really should get started,” Despoina murmured, eyes down, hands folded demurely. It was impossible to tell if she was intervening for Persephone's sake or for the sake of hair and makeup, but either way Demeter looked her way and immediately softened.

“Alright, Despoina,” she said in a much different tone of voice. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. You look very nice today, by the way.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Despoina said, but the shy glance she cast Demeter's way was lost on her, already turning back to the task at hand.

“Don't give Despoina any grief this morning, Persephone,” she said, nodding to her aide to flip to the next page and continue.

“Yes, mother,” Persephone said, fumbling with her seat belt as she tried to stand. The blood rushed to her head the moment she'd gained her feet and she tried to focus on not swaying like a drunk as she and Despoina made their way down the aisle. The tears that had been gathering only a moment ago were already long gone; she had had more than enough practice with her Political Face to ensure she could handle a few stray emotions, and now there was no danger any of the Department employees traveling with them might see something untoward. Her benign, placid smile stayed fixed in place until they had made it safely to the roomy front bathroom, and even after Despoina locked the door behind them all Persephone could do was sit down on the lidded toilet seat and sigh.

“I'm sure she didn't mean it to sound so harsh,” Despoina said, setting out her things on the counter, movements quick and sure. “It's been a long morning for her, too.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Do you want the green or the yellow today?” Despoina asked, turning around and holding up two garment bags with two nearly identical pastel skirt-suits from the clothing line Demeter had commissioned just for her wayward daughter.

“'Eternal Spring',” Persephone muttered in a vengeful tone, knowing by heart the trademark printed on the labels even though they were too far away to make out. “No chance she made something in red this time around?”

“No.”

“Then I don't care.”

“I thought the yellow one today, since the material of the green one is a little more expensive,” Despoina said without missing a beat, setting one of the bags aside. “It might come off as elitist.”

“As if they'd notice.”

“Hair up, or down?”

“Up,” Persephone said, dragging herself to her feet and stripping off her jeans.

“Chignon? Braid? French twist?”

“French twist,” Persephone replied automatically, zipping the skirt into place and eyeing her reflection in the mirror, suddenly suspicious. “Did she make the skirts longer this time?”

“I think the hemline was altered just a little, yes,” Despoina said, avoiding Persephone's gaze as she busied herself with containers of gel and hairspray.

“I look like a nun.”

“You look like a lady.”

“What's so offensive about knees?” Persephone asked, even as she doffed her T-shirt in turn and replaced it with the rest of the ensemble. A neckline up to here, and cuffs down to here, and sheer stockings for the portion of her legs that was still showing. Heels under two inches. Hair swept out of the way, for the cameras, for the convenience. Her mother's mantras pounded through her head with every style and every stitch. “I talked to the designer myself six months ago, and he promised me different colors, different accessories-- this is even worse than last year.”

“Not a lot of girls have mothers commissioning clothes just for them,” Despoina said reprovingly, finishing with Persephone's hair and starting in on her makeup.

“I know,” Persephone sighed, closing her eyes as Despoina smeared something onto her skin. “But I'm so sick of pastels I'm tempted to start stealing things and dying them myself.”

“They look lovely with your hair,” Despoina said, nodding at Persephone's reflection.

“So would red,” Persephone argued, staring herself down, the same light blonde hair as Despoina, the same naturally pale skin. Only their eyes were different, Persephone's a lighter shade of blue than Despoina's, a shallow swimming pool compared to an ocean. “Have you asked her about transferring to the company?”

Against her cheek the makeup brush stuttered as Despoina started and glanced at the door, still firmly shut. “No,” she murmured, her cheeks a little paler than usual.

“Has she said anything at all?”

“No,” Despoina repeated, brushstrokes sure and even again. “My application didn't make it through the first round.”

“Didn't make--? But you've got an MBA from Brown! You should be able to get a job anywhere!”

“Persephone--.”

“I should call Uncle Dardanus. If the CEO and COO together can't get one measly job interview set up--.”

“Demeter's never going to let it happen.”

“It's not up to her!” Persephone insisted. “You should start applying to other companies. Dardanus has contacts in entertainment, oil, pharmaceuticals, all kinds of industries. You could even get a job abroad!”

“Persephone, stop!” Despoina snapped, eyes flashing. It was so out of character that Persephone could only stare, and when she did she finally noticed that Despoina's eyes weren't glittering in anger, but because they were brimming with tears.

“Oh, Despoina,” she murmured, instantly contrite as she stood and tried to hug her.

“It's fine,” Despoina said, fending her off and somehow maneuvering her back on top of the toilet.

“It's not fine,” Persephone protested, a little more quietly, a little more gently, closing her eyes on instinct as Despoina misted her with perfume. “She doesn't even care how cruel she's being. She can't stop you going somewhere else.”

“I used plenty of makeup with SPF today, in case you'll need to be out in the sun,” Despoina replied, her usual professional tone a little more strained. “And maybe I can bring some scarves next time, for color.”

“I don't care about the colors anymore,” Persephone said, refusing to back down, opening her eyes and glaring at Despoina in the mirror. Their reflections stared at each other, identical light hair, identical light skin. Only the eyes were markedly different; Despoina had gotten her father's Pacific, and Persephone had gotten a different father's shallow swimming pool.

“It doesn't matter,” Despoina said without any real emotion, looking away first.

“You shouldn't let her treat you like this.”

“YOU'RE her real daughter,” Despoina pointed out, packing up her things. “Look how she treats you.”

“I've only got one more year before I get my MBA,” Persephone said, standing and surveying herself in the mirror. She looked the same way she always did: tied up like a puppet tangled in its own strings. Controlled. Trapped. “One of us should get out, at least.”

“One more year before you go work for your mother's company,” Despoina reminded her.

“It's not her company anymore. I'm going to run it, and I'm going to build a big house in a city far away, and I'm going to hire whoever I want to,” Persephone said, certainty running through her. It had been so long that she'd been dreaming about it, so long that she'd been studying and working and planning. No more lectures. No more sneaking around. No more pastels. “And I'll hire you first. Otherwise I'll be stuck in a sea of brothers the rest of my life,” she said with a sly grin that Despoina did not return. After a moment she dropped it, settling instead for a determined frown. “Apply again, Despoina.”

“I'm not sure I want to.”

“It'll get through this time.”

“'This time?'”

“I'll figure something out,” Persephone murmured, tugging at her hem, her collar, her wrists, yards and yards of yellow fabric cut to flatter her figure but hide her away at the same time. “I will. I promise.”

“We have to go,” Despoina said, avoiding her eyes as she opened the door, cutting off any chance to talk further. “If you need a coat the driver will have one waiting in the car.”

“A coat in a color from my Cool Spring Palette?”

“You look beautiful as always, Persephone,” Despoina replied, smile tight, eyes determinedly vacant.

“So do you,” Persephone murmured, and there it was: a flash of pain, a spasm of regret, and longing, and hurt, appearing just for an instant across the face that was so similar to hers. Then it was gone and they both made their way back down the plane, polite and meaningless smiles back on, Persephone taking her seat as Despoina offered to touch up Demeter's make-up. Demeter declined with a smile that was friendly but not too friendly, a sweeping glance, a dismissive wave. Despoina would stay on the plane, as she always did, officially on-call and unofficially out of the way of any stray photographer who might happen to catch an inconvenient picture of her and Persephone side by side.

“Your quarterly reports,” Demeter reminded Persephone, tapping the emblazoned binder. “Ten minutes until we land. The itinerary can wait until we get in the car. The regional board will meet us at the airport; remember not to shake the Chairman's hand too hard this time, his arthritis has gotten worse.”

Persephone stared at the binder, her own personal frustration and her humiliation for Despoina's sake rising in her, the first half of a familiar cycle as she pasted on a smile, tried to remember how to sit up straight, how to breathe evenly. One more year. One more year, and she'd be graduated and free. It only took a few seconds before she could look up, her expression as vaguely pleasant as any other professional politicians' daughter, just the way she was always supposed to be.

“Yes, mother.”