Perhaps she had not loved Pluto, but surely she had pitied him.
"He was ugly, hated, feared. I, who knew him best, held him in
awe. And yet, for all his faults, he was gentle. Though master
of that dark domain, he wept for those within. Though he had
power, he had not the power to set them free.
"He loved me. A strange love, perhaps. When I returned for that
brief moment to my mother, he wept. And when I returned to him
once more, his face was radiant.
"Did I love him?"
She was silent. Yet, tears flowed from her eyes.
"Love? What is Love?"
She walked restlessly by the tarn, breathed deeply.
"Mother, I would rest. Take me home." She sobbed.
Demo listened silently, head bowed. Though a tragedy had now
ended, still there was tragedy. How strange indeed this life,
where evil destroyed did not bring happiness. Where maiden
rescued did not bring joy. Where task performed did not bring
triumph.
He picked up the broken sword, gazed at it musingly. With a
half smile he shook his head, tossed it aside.
Finally he turned to comfort her, but she was gone. Where she
had stood a rose bush grew. Its single blossom, one deep red
rose, hung low in sorrow. A vagrant wave gently kissed its soft
petals.
With a sigh Demo turned to climb again the mountain. Above its
peaks a lone white cloud drifted. Sun's rays lit the tree tops.
The final task was done.
"Rough, you've come back . . . , alone! Oh, and you're hurt.
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