( hades stares at him in a way that makes persephone want to shrink into himself, suddenly grateful for the darkness of the underworld that hides the flush of pink nearly as bright as his hair that washes over his cheeks, tinges the tips of his ears as he accidentally meets the god's gaze. he's determined not to back down, though, small hands curling into fists at his sides.

if only he knew how to fight, to protect himself, instead of surrounding himself with pretty things that all seem far too frivolous right now. but what would persie do against the very god of death himself?

at the mention of eating, persephone frowns, brow furrowed as he approaches the table. a pomegranate makes its way into his palm, and he studies it intently for a moment before declaring: ) This could be poisoned, or — or another one of your tricks. ( and if he petulantly drops it to the floor, lets it roll, so be it. ) There isn't anything here that I must do except return home.