Free Radiant Darkness by Emily Whitman Page A

girl throws open the doors and stands back for me to pass.
       A hush falls over the cavernous room. Somewhere up in the ether, a roof disappears above red columns. Waves of cloaks and chitons rustle as a sea of faces turns my way. At the far end of all those bodies, Hades rises from a benchlike throne big enough for two. Now he stands, waiting for me.
       Even from this distance, his hair is burnished blacker against golden robes. Where is the man I fell in love with, the one with an easy smile, the one lounging next to me on the grass? The man in front of me now is pure power, a god-king.
       And me?
       I realize everyone is staring at me: my dress, my jewels, my hands, my hair, my face. I take a step and people move back, creating a path.
       Only the click, click of my sandals breaks the terrible silence. Left foot, right foot, head high, left foot, shoulders back, right foot—right foot! My sandal lands on a long cloak. Its owner, gasping in apology, jerks it away—and my right foot with it. The slippery gold sole flies out behind me as my arms grab at the air. I'm suspended. Time stops. Just me in midair screeching and every single eye glued to me as I crash to the floor, my bracelets clattering like a handful of coins flung on a table.
       A winged man picks up my crown, then holds out his other hand to help me up. I take it and come to my feet. My face feels so hot, I must be blushing as red as the rubies in my hair.
       Don't even ask me about the rest of it. The man hands me my crown. He's smiling. Everyone in the whole damn room is probably smiling, trying to swallow their snickers.
       Somehow I make my way up to the throne. Hades takes my hand and squeezes it as we face the sea of faces together. He doesn't let go. He probably thinks he has to hold me up so I won't fall over again.
       I sit and he sits and then an eternity passes. People approach and lay gifts before us. I clutch the arm of the throne so tightly, the three-headed dog carved into the gold bites my hand. People talk and Hades responds, and I don't hear a single word they're saying. So much for being a sponge.

Cocoon

    M y covers weigh me down like a shroud. But the outer world keeps insisting on its existence: I can hear carts clanking outside, and servants bustling somewhere down the hall. I pull the covers over my head. Why does the world of death have to be so damn purposeful? I wish I could rot in peace.
       It's no good. I'm going to have to get up and face it. Them. Everyone who saw me yesterday making my—what was it Hades called it?—my "grand entrance."
       I told him, didn't I? I told him back in the vale that I wasn't queen material, and he looked right into my eyes and said it didn't matter. Ruling is easy , he said. I'll teach you , he said.
       And then he throws me into the throne room like a fish to sharks.
       Now he can see what kind of queen he brought home. Not someone dignified and regal like my mother; no, he's got a bumbling girl who can't even walk a simple path. Some immortal I am!
       I groan out loud. Queen Persephone the Hilarious, that's me. I can see it now. Everyone will smile politely when I pass, then turn to each other, whispering and covering their mouths to stifle their giggles. Oh, this is going to be just great.
       I sit up in the dark, gathering my covers into a huge, padded cocoon with only my face and feet poking out. I shuffle over and open the shutters. Then I plop back down on the bed and look around.
       Grand. Elegant. Imposing. Queenly. Nothing at all like me. Nothing like home.
       I wriggle out of my cocoon. As I reach for a chiton, I realize I'm humming. What is that tune? I can't quite place it . . . something about green grass and water and—I stop cold. Of course! It's the Lethe's song.
       The Lethe, River of Forgetting. Put in a toe and you might forget what you had for breakfast. Put in your leg up to the knee and there go your