Peter the Son of the Bread Maker
Hades Demon of the Underworld
“I make a hell of a pretzel.”
Knead. Knead. Knead. Slice. Slice. Slice. Wait. Wait. Wait. Supposedly, I’m Peter, the lowly son of Slug Brook Village’s Bread Maker: quiet, invisible, and—might I humble brag—exceptionally talented at twisting a pretzel. Supposedly, this is my life. Knead. Knead. Knead. Slice. Slice. Slice. Wait. Wait. Wait. Most importantly, never ever, under any circumstances whatsoever, interact with The Girls. No matter how their smiles take your breath away. No matter how their laughter warms your heart like butter melting on a fresh Ciabatta loaf.
So, I kneaded, kneaded, kneaded. Sliced, sliced, sliced. Waited, waited longer, waited forever still; never questioning my lot in life, never second guessing my identity, until I saw her.
Her soulless eyes. Her scornful glare. Her stormy attitude when she discovered the sour dough that she was devouring was, in fact, bread, “This has gluten in it? Gluten? I’m from Los Angeles, gluten is the eighth deadly sin!”
I knew it instantly. My Persephone had returned.
It sounds crazy, I know, illegal even—to suggest I’m somehow entitled to this girl, a student of Slug Brook Academy, of whom I’m banned from so saying so much as, “Hello.” Village boys aren’t allowed to speak to The Girls, under penalty of the Highest Order. But, I ain’t no village boy.
I’m Hades. Lord of the Underworld.
And Persephone, the Demon Cheerleader Princess Warrior, is mine.
I won Persephone’s heart long ago, at Freshmen Prom when I demolished the Archangel Gabriel in a dance battle set to Persephone’s favorite song: Hell’s On Fire. My prize: each Spring Break, Persephone must travel to the Underworld with me! I hear the weather on Earth’s horrible without her.
At the bakery, I caught Persephone’s eyes as she nibbled on a cracker thin rye. She didn’t recognize who I was. She sees me for Peter, the lowly Bread Maker’s Son. How can I show her I’m Hades, her betrothed?
Go on to… Chapter 6…