And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
— Tears for Fears, "Mad World"

One of Persephone's stories (as told by Lilith Maeve):

It was the best party of the year. Everyone knew it, including my mother, which was precisely why she always told me I wasn't allowed to go. If I didn't go, those bitchy river nymphs would think they were better than me and they're totally not because I'm a goddess and they're . . .demi-goddesses at best

I was not about to let that happen.

You know, I never really believed in all that destiny crap the Fate sisters rambled on about whenever my mom made me card yarn for them. But after that night I did. I shimmied down the drainpipe after I heard my mom fall asleep to the t.v. Felt kinda bad just like I always did. Okay, a lot bad and a lot guilty. But really, I'm a woman now and I work. I paint daisies all damn day and follow my mother like an obedient puppy and keep my room just the way she wants (which, by the way, is still pink with a white canopy bed with all my dolls). If I didn't get an outlet, I would probably kill someone. Sneaking out was really for the good of everyone else. I was wearing my hottest party outfit - white tube top so you could see where my tummy was pierced (another thing my mom does not know about), a white pleated mini, white kitten heeled sandals, and my hair up in pigtails. I stuck my lollipop in my mouth, rolled my mom's white Mustang convertible down our driveway and started the engine at the end of the block.

When I got to the party I saw it was going to be lame from the gate. First person I see by the keg? Pan, my exboyfriend. Who grabbed my ass. Grabbed my ass like we were still together which we are not. Great. I slammed down my first cup of lukewarm beer and went to go check out the rest of the scene. It was a beautiful night out, the sky was that clear clear blue with all the stars and the full moon.. The party was always held in the meadow, rainy or otherwise. I walked past the nymphs doing body shots and past the centaurs playing beer pong (I was never allowed to play against them because I always beat them and then they got pouty and then they got mad, blah blah blah bork). God. I can't believe I risked my mom flipping her shit on me over this. I slammed down my second glass of beer when something caught my eye.

Ooooh, there were those daisies I forgot to paint last week. Crap. If Mom finds out, she'll kill me and lecture me while she's doing it. Well, only one way to fix that—get rid of the evidence. I grabbed my third cup of beer and hustled my ass over there. I started picking them and making a daisy chain when I heard the purr of a good motorcycle. I turned around and—hello. Mmm! The night was getting better already. I didn't recognize him at all (even better since everyone knows everyone and is in everyone's business around here). He was tall and muscular with those deep deep brown eyes and looooooong black hair tied back. Black leather pants so you could see what was going on, black motorcycle jacket and white wife beater. Mmm mmm mmm! I slung my daisy chain around my hips, popped my lollipop back in my mouth, caught his eye and gave him a slow smile. I walked towards him and I felt like for the first time like I couldn't breathe. Like all I wanted was to look at him and have him look at me forever.

"Hi," I said, giving him my sex kitten grin.

"Does your mother know you're missing?"

he said, low in my ear, sending shivers down my neck.

I rolled my eyes. "Did she send you?"

"No. We hardly know each other. But everyone knows how well she guards her daughter."

"Well, you got to see me. Lucky you," I said, popping my lollipop back in my mouth and turning to go to my car to go home. I don't know why I try. It's not that I want to upset my mother, I don't. I love her. But with that love is the guilt and resentment that almost everyone mother and daughter relationship seems to have. I just . . .want something that's mine sometimes.

He gently put his hand on my arm. I shivered, but it was that good shiver.

"I didn't look for you to talk about your mother," he said.

"Then what would you want with me? I can grant you no favors I'm barely a goddess. I'd be a nymph if it wasn't for my mother."

"I wanted to see if it was true," he said.

"If what was true?" If that skank Urinia was spreading rumors about me again, I'd—

"That you were the most beautiful girl around. And charming. And," he paused.

"And what?" I said.

"Hardcore," he said, grinning at me. Oh my heart, my heart, my heart . . .

"I didn't think people thought I was hardcore," I said.

"Well. I said that," he said. I turned around so he couldn't see me turn red. I walked towards the dance floor, slow so he could get a good look at me. When I got there, the dance floor was on fire (but only around the perimeter). I saw Euterpe on the platform shakin her ass in her little black dress and caught her eye. I glanced over to Mystery Boy and back at her and mouthed, "Dibs!" She rolled her eyes but beckoned me up there. Usually I'm not one for that, myself. But. This was a special occasion after all. I let her pull me up by her and we did what we do best—we put on a show. We're close, you know.

I wanted to give this Mystery Boy a chance to dance with me, so I got back on the dance floor and I felt his hands at my hips. He started kissing my neck and I started feeling a swoon coming on. I smacked his hands hard and stepped away.

"Behave," I said, but I couldn't help but smile.

"I don't. Behave."

"I think for the right girl you would."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. Do you want to go for a ride?"

"That depends," I purred and hopped on the back of his Harley, "Where are you taking me? And do I get to know your name?"

"Do you know where I live?"

"Does it matter?"

"It seems to matter for a lot of people," he said and had those soft puppydog eyes I always fall for. My heart was butter in the sun.

"It doesn't to me," I said softly.

So, you know the rest. Mom flips her shit and there's a power struggle between her and the boys to get me back. There's enough drama to make a soap addict happy. Words are said, pomegranates are eaten, vows made, there's swooning and crying and carrying on. But somehow when the story is told, I'm relegated to the silent, hand wringing princess. I don't know about you, but that's not my style. That's one thing both of them can agree on.