And finally
he is rewarded by the slightest movement, a sign of life. Soon
she begins to cough, to breathe.
Pluto stands quietly, watching. What on another creature might
have been a smile touches his lips. On his cheek a trickle of
liquid. Water from the Tarn of Eternity?
"She lives." He utters, half question, half statement.
"Yes, she lives."
There was no question now. The tears were real.
For a moment Pluto turns away, then turns once more to look at
her. "I grant you your life, earthling. Care for her. Help her,
human. For this I spare your life. Quickly, now, for as I
forecast, the Tarn of Eternity is quenching the fires of hell,
and quenching the very life from me. Yet I pass on willingly,
that she may live."
He pauses, looks out toward the center of the Tarn.
"These waters, as foretold, have destroyed me."
Though Demo had paid attention only to Persephone, he had still
noted the horrible oozing of Pluto's blood from a thousand
wounds.
"It is over. I go to my fate. Tell her this. With her
departure, what hope in Hades dwelt no longer lingers. And tell
her, that in my own way, I loved and love her still."
He turns.
With a dignity born of valor he wades into the dark waters,
marches stolidly into the ravenous waters that swirl and froth
and tear at his body. Their waves lap ever higher until,
silently, he disappears beneath the surface, into their clouded
depths.
And, though he were a denizen of Hell, one could but think,
'True love deserves better.
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