2/2
It wasn’t long before he saw Persephone’s new forest. They were beautiful, of course, but the way they poured across the ground, to Hades, resembled blood from a wound. The butterfly had brought him to the very edge of the protective circle of flora that Persephone had built for herself. He lifted his hand to let the butterfly take flight and join the others that were flickering, like candlelight, between the vines and branches. He didn’t know how she was here - how they both were - but he knew that there was no way that Zeus was responsible for this. Had someone else intervened? Hecate? Hera?
Hades wanted to rush into the thick of it all, but he’d been trying, now more than ever, to respect her wishes and her boundaries - and these trumpet vines and vivid blossoms looked very much like a physical representation of those. Still, he stepped past a few leaves, careful not to trip over any exposed roots, and drew closer to the center. At about halfway to the center he stopped, wrapped his arms tight around himself and pursed his lips, taking one more glance upwards towards the sky before he spoke: