Hades woke up to the sight of an angel. She had fiery hair that reminded him of the warmth of summer, yet her fingers on his face felt like sharp pangs brought by winter. He had learned to cherish every waking day, since he had met his wife Persephone, and he had learned to curse every lonesome night for the months she was gone.
Every time she came back to her mother, Hades planned. He planned how he and his wife would spend their days when she came back, but he also planned how he would make her stay more permanent. The possible actions he thought he could take all required one thing: Persephone's death. An action he will never, ever allow, even though all his counsel suggest it. He would never agree to Persephone dying. He would never want her hurt. He would rather spend half the year alone than see her in pain.
"What is it, dear?" he said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He returned her touch with his palm on her cheek. "Is it already time?" he said, a frown forming on his face. He feared the day she would have to leave him yet again, due to her mother's grip upon her. He lied down on their bed, thinking about how he would lie there again, every night, cold and alone and without his dear Persephone. Her absence did not feel like an emptiness inside him, like one would usually think. No, her absence made him feel like he shouldered all the despair from all the souls he governed in the underworld.
He loved her more than anything, and without her, he had nothing. Without her, he was nothing.