“Errr…” I say. What is my thing for saying er all the time?
Persephone notices too. “Shut up, please. That’s terribly annoying.”
When I still don’t make any move to pick her up, she climbs undaunted into my-my!-chariot. Unashamedly she hugs close to me to hold on.
“Okay, go,” she says smugly.
I whip the reins before I think about it (that’s what my chariot trainer from Tartarus whose task was to teach me always said) and before I know it, we’re shuttling down my secret path to the Underworld (that doesn’t take nine days, fortunately).
We go several miles before it hits me:
Persephone is spooning me standing up.
“Yee-haw!” I yell suddenly (that’s something I learned from a cowboy in the Elysian Fields) and crack my whip in the air. Persephone laughs into my hair and holds me closer as we go around a hairpin turn.
How terribly indecent we’re being, I think as she leans her head on my shoulder.

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