They say the goddess of spring was plucking a blossom when she was nabbed, yanked beneath the earth, but here’s the truth: Persephone’s desire made that chasm yawn wide.
Even blooming is a profession you can grow weary of; even beauty becomes a burden. Even a mother’s love can twist and turn, make you boil inside till you nearly burst, till you crush the heartless petals and crack the soil.
Even darkness is a rebirth. Persephone knew this when she descended; when she went looking for jewels and fruit, deep beneath the surface, where the sun’s light could never go.
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