Promises and Pomegranates

Blood operates throughout the novel as a symbol of both violence and intimacy, underscoring the blurred line between obsession and love. Kal’s arousal at the sight and taste of blood dramatizes his association with brutality, while Elena’s eventual willingness to embrace this imagery marks her transformation from object to participant. Early in the marriage, Kal repeatedly describes her body as “flesh broken and bleeding” (152), or notes her “raised, broken flesh” as evidence of his dominance (351). For Kal, blood initially functions as proof of possession—physical traces that certify his control.

As the relationship evolves, however, blood becomes a medium through which Elena reclaims agency. During sex, she licks her own blood from Kal’s lips, interpreting the act not as degradation but as empowerment, a sign that she can take ownership of what once symbolized injury. Later, the act of marking itself shifts from unilateral domination to mutual participation. Kal frequently calls her his “canvas,” a metaphor that objectifies her as something to be altered, while Elena complicates this metaphor by inviting him to “mark” her, reframing inscription as an active choice. By the end, she reciprocates, carving an “E” into his chest at his invitation, which transforms the motif of marking into one of shared authorship.

The motif thus evolves alongside their intimacy: blood and marks once used to signal subjugation become emblems of reciprocity, showing how violence is transmuted into chosen vulnerability. At the same time, the permanence of these bodily traces highlights the novel’s interest in scars, memory, and permanence. Blood and marking symbolize the paradox of their bond, born out of force but sustained by consent, making them central to the novel’s exploration of how intimacy can both wound and heal.

Elena’s garden at the Asphodel is a motif that highlights the possibility of Reclaiming Agency Within Forced Marriage. Associated as she is with Persephone, the goddess of springtime, it is apt that she longs for flowers and for a place in Kal’s home that feels like her own. As she tells him, “I wanted something at the Asphodel that felt like mine. My balcony back home was covered in all sorts of plants, and I’d go out and read, surrounded by fresh flowers, and just feel at peace. I thought…maybe if I tried to recreate that feeling, I wouldn’t be so lonely here” (210). Like Persephone, Elena was stolen from her home, against her will, and in creating a space that feels like the best part of her home, Elena can keep that part of herself alive too. When Kal first finds her, covered in dirt and planning her garden, he says, “There’s a look of elation cast over her delicate features, a softness erasing deep-set rigidity” (174). The prospect of bringing her garden to life allows Elena to feel like herself again, to feel at least a little happy and active, in a place that feels strange and overwhelming to her.

However, the garden doesn’t grow as expected, perhaps because Elena’s associated with spring has been tempered with a new association with darkness. She says, “I see no significant growth in the garden I planted last month […]. Part of me is starting to wonder if maybe the air of death that surrounds the house is keeping the flowers underground, where they’re safe” (179). Just as Persephone accesses a figurative “darkness” within herself after spending time in the Underworld, so do Kal and the Asphodel unlock the darkness within Elena. Kal shows her an area where flowers native to Aplana grow, acknowledging both Elena’s wish for the comfort they bring her as well as the way she has undergone certain personal changes since arriving.