"Thanks, but I'm not interested," you say. Persephone suddenly takes on an unsettlingly mischievous air. She opens her desk again and takes out an oddly-shaped pink flower, and a mortar and pestle. She starts grinding the blossom, all the while watching you as if you might make a break for it.
"If you won't help me," she says, "I may as well just keep you as a pet. That's what my followers intended for you anyway."
She gathers a generous handful of the pink powder and blows it in your face. Your eyes blur, your throat burns, and you sneeze. Still, the powder has an oddly soothing effect. Like nothing matters in the world except being comfortable.
"What is that stuff," you try to say. But you don't. Instead you whinny. Persephone looks delighted, and starts talking, but you don't understand her.
You can't speak like a human, you can't think like one...for all intents and purposes, you're nothing but an animal now. So much for 800 costumes. So much for ever getting home again. You're the pet for the queen of the underworld.
Written by Zodiac on 02 July 2007
The end (for now)