Walking barefoot through the garden as my tattered robes dragged blackened ash behind me in a trail, I look up to see the blossoms bursting open with life. A gentle breeze sways by and frees me of the stench of death and suffering, allowing my lungs to breathe openly again. Stray flowers get caught on my horns while I make my way to the hidden grove where I spot her, my angel, tending to some new sprouts. Oh gods, the smile that overtakes her face shines brighter than a starlit sky. My heart, my black and damaged heart, soars. What are you doing to me? She greets me with a voice softer than feathers of angel wings. A giggle ripples through the air as she picks off the flowers that got stuck in my horns, weaving them into the flower crown bore on her head. I fiddle with a tendril of her locks, twirling it between my fingertips. She takes my hand and leads me to where she was before and we sit in each others presence as the world continues to move around us. When she’s with me, time does not exist. I crack a smile when a laugh flows out of her like a melody. If I’m Hell. She’s Heaven. I look around at all the flowers and blooms and I think. “It must be spring.” -d.r.g

(A poem in Hades’ perspective.)