“No?” Latrice questioned as she felt the rain start to drip through her coat and dress, the cold water touching the skin of her shoulders as it poured down on the mourning girl. She was surprised that he told her that he would keep her mother’s mystery. The way he spoke confused her a bit, made her wonder what he meant when she already know what the words were but wanted him to repeat them to her. Soon he started in on a rant, correcting the way she spoke to him and what she called him.  The man before her stated that he was not the god of death or a reaper of sorts, that he was in fact the lord of the underworld.<br/><br/>All of the stories her mother told, the tales she read in books started to come back up. Everything slowly started to fit in together as her mind turned over as he spoke. In the few seconds where she wasn’t paying attention he stepped closer to her, Latrice’s eyes glancing up at his towering form as his rant turned into soft words, expressing that her late mother loved her deeply. The young woman blushed a bit as he grabbed her face, holding it as if he was her caretaker. “Promised child?” She asked, confused but unable to look away from him as she felt her body step a little closer towards his and out of the rain. Then suddenly something clicked. A few times before the girls when they were young asked their mother why she told them these stories, why she was so into Mythology. Their late mother often replied ‘it’s our history’ but once, Latrice asked and Miriam spoke to her; ‘We are the daughters of Persephone, this is our destiny.’<br/><br/>Latrice remembered it for so long because it rhymed and because it felt nice to be connected to such a tale. But here, now.. it seemed that it was all true. That all the tales she was told were facts, not just stories. Latrice’s eyes looked at him with surprise as it all came to her. “..I-I’m your Persephone?”