When the young man ran away from his mother’s plantation, he delved deep, deep underground. He wasn’t accustomed to physical labor like this, but with the directions he’d been given by the witch, he would make his way to the only place no one could ever find him.
The three gatekeepers were easy to get past. They were loyal to the last, but easily charmed by the right flattery, and the witch had given him tips on what to say. Of course, he had to sell it, but he was a born liar. He’d had to be, to endure his childhood as the daughter of the woman who was in charge of the farmers, cold and heartless as she was. So the young man talked his way past the gatekeepers, all three of them now already on his side before he even reached their boss.
Next he had to bribe the old train conductor, the only means of safely reaching the young man’s destination, but he’d stolen enough gold from his mother that the conductor greedily accepted the payment without a word, grinning to xirself and planning xir next shopping trip.
He encountered a man he recognized a bit after that, a messenger who visited his mother on occasion, but thankfully the man wasn’t paying enough attention to realize who he was. Either that or he didn’t care. Either way, the young man counted himself lucky to get past him without a confrontation.
To the young man’s surprise, he then reached what appeared to be a field of flowers. There was no sunlight this deep beneath the surface, so he examined them curiously. He’d always liked flowers, especially ones with no practical purpose. But these weren’t actually flowers, he realized. They were sculptures, all of them. The young man moved on without noticing the figure in a black hooded cloak that had begun to follow him.
He reached a stairwell, dark and steep, at the bottom of which lay his destination. He frowned. It didn’t look safe. It was cracked, clearly not maintained properly. He carefully made his way down, stumbling a few times on the way. After the third time, he suspected something. Carefully, he knelt down and lay a hand on the step that had nearly killed him. The step was uneven in a way that had to have been intentional. It wasn’t cracked at all. No, the step felt extremely well-made.
There was just a cube-shaped chunk missing, carved out by design, as if to ensure the death of any careless intruder. He took extra care the rest of the way down, but the remaining steps were sturdier than he’d expected.
At the end of the stairway, he found himself in a dimly lit room with a locked door. He swore under his breath at this. The witch had told him that the last door would be guarded by the boss’s prized employee, but the room was empty. Had she lied to him? Or was her information faulty?
The young man turned to climb back up, but there was a dark figure standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Who are you?” the figure asked. Their voice was soft, gentle even, but there was a firmness to it that commanded his attention. “Wait, hold on… I recognize your face. You’re—”
The young man shook his head. “Don’t say it. Please.”
“A new question then: who are you going to be?”
The young man smiled. “Call me Persephone. I’m here to meet with Hades. Your boss, I presume? I was offered a job.”