The world had never witnessed such beauty. Flowers covered the fields in a way that the world had never seen before. Crops grew not only large and plentiful, but beautifully too. Apples were never as red and delicious, grapes were never so juicy and plump, and pomegranates were never so intoxicating. All across the land, there was beauty and sweetness, and the spring goddess could not help but push the world further.

She had never felt so restless and alive. Perhaps it was because she had felt what it was like to be still, before he left her. He had left her, as she had asked him to, but now she was no longer still. She ran all across the earth now, whispering her restlessness to the earth, and the earth responded to her with beauty and sweetness. Her mother knew nothing of this, but she felt the earth blossoming from her daughter's influence, and Demeter worried about the changes she saw in her.

Mortals found the special tree within a day, and they had recognized its beauty and supernatural nature. They built a shrine to it, the first dedicated to Persephone, and she was ever vigilant over the mortals who prayed there. She was grateful to them, as blessing them eased the overwhelming pressure of the burning life and restlessness within her.

An old woman prayed for youth, for she was growing too weak to work. She had no family to care for her, and her village could be ruthless with the ones who could not contribute. Persephone touched the old woman while her head was lowered in prayer to the tree, and the mortal felt a new life run through her old bones. She looked the same, but felt a strength in her that she hadn't felt in years, and she felt strong enough to continue earning her small keep in the village.

A mortal man, hard and marked from the trials of war, passed the tree on his way back home. He had been away hunting, and he was carrying some birds in to sell to the other villagers. His body was too tired for his age, as a hard and loveless life had aged him. He was as tired within his soul as he was in his body. He felt no passion or life within him, and he never felt anything for other human beings.

He stopped by the shrine, not to pay respects, but to seek shade beneath the tree. He sat quietly, resting, but the scent of the flowers softened him enough to draw his eyes upwards. He looked at the flowers in the tree, and without realizing it, his thoughts drifted to a woman in the village. He had never entertained thoughts of her before, but she had meant enough to him to make a place for herself in his subconscious mind, and he was surprised to find that he liked thinking about her.

She was a barmaid, and a good woman, even though the rest of the town looked down on her for serving men inside of a tavern. But she spoke kindly to him when he went for dinner and ale, and she always made sure there was a place for him by the fire. She was kind and pretty, and she never demanded attention from him as other women tried. She never asked about his war stories, knowing that he didn't want to talk about his past. All of this time, he assumed he only went because he had no family to cook for him, and a hot meal was nice at the end of a long day. But with the scent of the flowers all around him, he realized that she was the reason why he kept going back to the tavern.

He had no idea how to approach her with his newly discovered feelings, and this almost caused him to despair. But the tree was kind, and it took pity on him, and Persephone heard the small request from the tree on his behalf. She came immediately, but remained unseen, watching the man struggle with the first feelings of passion that he had ever known. The scars on his body whispered of his unhappy and lonely life, and Persephone felt sorry for him. In a strange, small way, he reminded her of the one that left her behind. The one that had kissed her with a cold passion that she still longed for. He was cold and frightening and completely unlike what everyone believed him to be. She felt so sorry for the poor mortal, for he was not an old man.

She reached down and touched his forehead, granting him some of the unending life that flowed within her. The new spark hit him immediately, and he felt the same youth and the same eagerness for life that he felt when he was a boy. He hadn't felt so alive since before his mother died, when life first began its unforgiving treatment to him.

"Tell her the truth," Persephone whispered to him. "Tell her everything. Tell her your past, to help her understand. But tell her the future too. Tell her you want to be with her for the rest of your days. Tell her you want to make a family with her. Tell her that you want to be happy, and you want to make her happy too."

She was not hoping to help two mortals fall in love. She was not a love goddess. But it was her domain to encourage life, and resurrecting life within this man, and lead them to make a family, supporting life.

A small flower fell from the tree, falling into the mortal man's lap. It was a special gift from her tree, for its scent was intoxicating and luscious. Persephone smiled and pet a branch of the tree, thanking it for its support and compassion. Her sweet, special friend...

"Take it to her," She whispered. The man immediately got up and went quickly towards his village, a new bounce in his step and a smile across his face.

Days later, a happily engaged barmaid came to the tree and placed a few, yet precious possessions next to the tree. There were dried petals from the flower, a little doll that was worn and broken, and an old dress that had belonged to the woman's mother. They were scraps and completely irrelevant to the world, but Persephone knew the great sacrifice of the sentimental value the woman was giving up. The woman was smiling and happy, and she whispered words of thanks and love to the tree, glowing in her new happiness. The tree responded, and Persephone could feel its pride.

Perhaps the other immortals would value their powers and learn compassion, if they could understand how to value creatures as seeds instead of powerful trees. Persephone had loved the seed, and now there was a warm and sweet tree that called for compassion on behalf of the mortals.

When the woman went away, Persephone became melancholy with thoughts of love. She roamed the fields, surrounded by flowers, walking solemnly. He had promised to return to her, but he hadn't send word at all. Perhaps he was offended by her refusal to go with him... But couldn't he understand? She couldn't leave now. She couldn't abandon her mother, not for anything. For all of her overprotectiveness, Persephone loved her mother. And she couldn't stand the thought of being the type of goddess that ran away with a god, as if she was no better than a lustful wood nymph. She would never become another god's harlot, even if it was for Hades…

But it was more than that. She had just found her great power, and she had great plans for the world. She wanted to make this beauty last for all eternity. Persephone had never asserted herself in the world before now, but it was beginning to take notice of her. She wanted to help mortals live for as long as possible, physically and spiritually. She wanted to help make people happy, like she had done today. She wanted to bring a new life and happiness to the world of mortals, and she could not do that in the Underworld.

She stood in the middle of the field, the sun and wind swirling around her skin, dancing with the life that clung to her. She stood, resolved and tall, looking forward with her new plan.

The only thought that held her back was that she wished she do all of this, and yet have him too.

ooOoo

Nothing changed in the Underworld. Nothing ever changed, there. The dead crossed the river, or they didn't, and were lost. Souls were judged and sent to wherever they would spend the rest of their existence: the punishment of Tartarus, the bliss of the Elysian Fields, or for most, the unending sea of flowers and sorrows in the Meadows of Asphodel. The Furies raged, the Fates spun their threads; Immortal servants tended to the small work, and the great lord Hades oversaw it all.

There were whispers and questionable notions that the dark god was not himself. Hades had always been stern, and cold, and quiet. But had he become more so, since the Ceremony of the Three? There were long stretches of time when he didn't seem to speak a word to anyone—only a harsh glare to anyone who disturbed him, and a wave of his hand to dismiss matters of little importance. The workings of the Underworld were methodical and near-automatic; the usual order of things did not require much from him but to be feared and obeyed.

But then, there would come times when Lord Hades suddenly threw himself into his duties, becoming intensely concerned with every matter that might warrant his attention. In those times he became even more frightening, scrutinizing every detail and dealing harsh punishments where he saw fit. He was restless, as though there were nothing for him but giving orders and exercising his authority.

There was no discernible pattern to these moods. They came and went and came again with no word and no consistency. Time didn't pass in the Underworld, not like it did beneath the sun and moon and stars. Hades had no days, no nights, and the utter endlessness of it all was suffocating him. He frequented the seeing water, and he watched Persephone and the days passing by her. It may have been only a moment ago that he'd left her, or years gone past, for all of the ache inside of him when he remembered her warmth.

She was so sweet, so sweet; He saw her care for the mortals that came to her shrine and he sighed at her gentle nature. Every time he thought to go to her, he lost the fire that might spur him to action when he saw how content she was in looking after those simple people. He wasn't sure if he could take her away from that. To bring her to his realm would be asking her to spend the rest of her days among people who were beyond nurturing. The Underworld was a place to exist, and to rest, but not to grow.

And yet its lord could not rest. He yearned for the goddess of youth and flowers, and he feared that too much longer apart from her would be the end of him. He couldn't focus; He couldn't bear being alone with his thoughts, and yet he struggled to hold himself together around others. He needed her. He needed the spark she had given him, and taken away.

Hades looked upon her in the water, on the day the barmaid had come with her precious offerings. He did not see the woman, but he saw Persephone, roaming her fields with thoughts he wished he could know. And she was alone. Every other time he watched her, she was with the mortals at the shrine, or too near her mother or the chattering nymphs that would report to her. That's what he thought he'd been waiting for—for her to be alone.

But that was not what caught his attention. He had noticed it before, something about her in her dealings with the mortals. She encouraged love in them, not merely for the sake of life, but for some feeling he thought he saw hiding behind her eyes. And he saw it now as she stood among her flowers and her very presence gave vitality and motion to everything around her. It was a longing.

And knowing only his own ache, he couldn't see that she had plans for the world she looked upon. He saw that she was exactly where a goddess of her power should be, and yet she was not content. She was not at home. And he remembered her crying in the tree and he remembered the passionate fire she set beneath his skin. Gods, how he remembered that fire.

The remembrance of it, in the way of things that manage to fall into place so perfectly at just the simplest of changes, fueled him to action. It was finally the right time.

Nothing would have changed for Persephone, when the unseen god was suddenly in her presence. Hidden with his helmet's magical veil, he was undetectable. And yet, everything felt solid and palpable to him. The wind brought him the scent of her hair, and the light glinted off of her skin like a precious jewel. He felt warm, and it wasn't because of the sun. He felt almost, so almost, at peace. If he could just touch her, and give in to the sheer intoxication of her being.

Though he'd worn the helmet to time his appearance exactly to his choosing, he did not wish to startle her as he had the night they'd spent in the flowering tree. Behind her, he shed his invisibility. As though to make himself less startling in the sun, he did not wear the same gown of sparkling silver nor the stark black that was so expected of him. In dark blue, he approached her, accents of tarnished bronze and iron contrasted with his shining helm but befit his nature as a god beneath the earth.

"Persephone," he said simply, waiting for her to take notice of him and overcome any surprise she may feel. His voice was strong, free of the worries of his busy mind, but it was softened by the smile he allowed to sneak onto his face. "I'm here," he said. Reassuring, as though he had come to her when she was expecting him. "I'm here to bring you home."