The pomegranate was but a parting gift—a piece of him, so you would not forget your time together. This, Hades swears on the River of Styx.

He never thought you would consume it within the borders of Helheim.

“Eat,” he gently pushes your meal across the table. If one were to strain their ears any further, they’d hear the utter desperation lacing his voice. “Please. You must keep your strength.”

You’ve completely refused nourishment ever since the binding, even when nothing served is scarlet, seedy or sweet like the fated fruit.

The fault lies with him alone. Amidst the blossoming meadows above, he shouldn’t have indulged your curiosity in his realm. But how, pray tell, could the King of the Netherworld ever resist you? You, who shone like the sun piercing his desolate kingdom's storms. Before he knew it, seasons had passed and the world had begun to perish under winter’s grip.

Envoys were dispatched to plead your case, seeking a compromise for you to dwell among the living and the dead. As regretful as he is of your mother’s wrath, Hades can’t deny a part of him rejoices at the thought of ruling Hel alongside you for eternity.