Persephone listened intently, giving her mother's hand a squeeze as she spoke. "Wow. Aunt Hera." She was quiet, trying to think, but she had nothing, nothing between the time before and the time in the Abyss. She was thankful for that, in light of what she'd just heard. Backstabbed by her sister? And Styx knew after everything Demeter had been through, the last thing she needed was additional sibling conflict.
And then came the question. "Die?" Persephone felt the faintest ghost of a smirk on her features. It wasn't at the situation -- no, that was far from even mildly amusing -- but the irony of it, her mother asking a question concerned with death when she'd specifically forbidden her from speaking of the Underworld, of Hades, of her time away in the place where mortals went after they had... well, died.
"Well," she said, shrugging just slightly, "not that I'm an expert on death or anything," she said facetiously, unable to help herself, "but in the actual mortal sense, I don't think so. Not the way they do," she said. "We can't. And even if we would have, you certainly wouldn't have gone to Tartarus. People aren't just sent there haphazardly or arbitrarily. It would cause chaos, disorder -- and if there's one thing that's critical it's the justice of the way things are supposed to be." She smirked fully now, before becoming serious again. "In the sense of us being locked up down there after the coup -- if you want to call that death, though I think it doesn't count -- then, yes, possibly. But it's hardly 'death,' really."