It starts like this:
Persephone is the goddess of flowers.
They weave through her hair, day in and day out. She makes them into chains and crown and long flowing banners. The flowers bend at her will.
She's never seen real ones, no, but she draws them and paints them and sometimes her father will bring her small ones made of metal or cardboard or cloth.
Demeter, goddess of the harvest, is her mother. When Persephone was just born, Demeter looked down at her and felt a weight in her stomach. Like someone was watching, waiting to take her baby girl the minute she lost sight of her.
Demeter loves Persephone with everything she has.
It's not enough.
…
It goes like this:
Persephone is born with large dark eyes. All seeing eyes, the nurse tells her mother. All knowing eyes.
Demeter clutches her precious baby closer.
She kisses the Persephone's small forehead.
"I'll never let anyone hurt you baby." She says.
She keeps her promise
…
It goes like this:
Persephone never stops learning secrets. She hides in vents, slips around corners. She knows the workings of her metal home better than most. She knows how to hide from guards and get food and slip treats to people without anyone's notice.
…
It goes like this:
Persephone, for all her caring, has not quite figured out how to love.
She knows the thought of it. She loves her mother, her father, and her friends.
She does not feel it.
…
It goes like this:
Persephone is growing fast. She runs through the halls on skinny legs, growing more daring by the day. People gaze upon her in love, in envy, in praise.
She doesn't care much for people's disappointment. She knows about them, their weaknesses, and their anger.
Sometimes, she cries, her mother strokes her hair, pushes back from her face.
"It's okay baby," her mother says, "I'll protect you forever."
She breaks this one.
…
It goes like this:
Persephone falls like Icarus.
A ball of flame.
Icarus dies.
Persephone survives.
She sees flowers for the first time.
They are crushed under her boots, too fragile for her ruined hands.
…
It goes like this:
There is a boy. She sees him. There are many boys. But boys are no match for a goddess.
One dies alone.
Another, she slides a knife into.
Another, well, he's just too scared.
…
It goes like this:
Hades is bold and fierce and beautiful. Hades is unwavering.
Persephone falls like Icarus did, in love with the sun.
She survives again.
They tell her that Hades is the Ruler of Hell.
She looks into green eyes and can't quite believe them.
They tell her not to go.
She does not listen.
…
It goes like this:
Blood is everywhere.
She knows how to destroy more than how to nourish. The flowers wilt in her presence.
…
It goes like this:
The Styx is beautiful and haunting and lonely. Cerberus is nothing more than a guard dog, following her with yellow eyes.
Persephone does not waver.
She is not afraid.
When Hades approaches, she can only smile.
High above, the flowers die. The tress weep, the crops wither.
But Hades is beautiful, and Persephone, after, all is only a girl.
Ha.
…
It ends like this:
The world comes crumbling down.
The flowers come back.
Persephone sits in front of her mother, quiet, as the tangles are brushed out of her hair.
"She'll burn down cities for you," her mother whispers.
Persephone smiles, a mouth filled with blood.
"No, she whispers back, "I'll burn them down myself."
…
It starts like this:
Persephone is born, high above earth. Some people look up and see heaven.
It goes like this:
Persephone can find no greater love than the one she sought out in hell.
It ends like this:
Winter is harsh, but spring always comes.
Demeter waits with outstretched hands.
Persephone always returns, covered in blood.
Demeter washes it away, and brushes her hair.
"How was Hell," she'll say.
"Hell is wonderful," she'll reply.
…
This is how it ends:
When the leaves wither up, Persephone leaves.
Demeter smiles as she watches her daughter walk away.