Her first life had been like waking up, in a sense; like waking up inside a dream. Her body moved slowly, stiffly, and everything was out of proportion. The walls around her moved too much or too little, people cheered joyfully, a woman was crying…crying…why was there crying? She had been asleep not moments before, safe and sound and secure and now…she was in the middle of confusion and women in odd clothes talking back and forth and back and forth…
Persephone opened her mouth, each motion she made feeling sluggish and foreign, to inform them that not all babies cried when born, that there would be nothing to worry about…to find that no such thing occurred. Instead, vague noises of a voice that was most definitely not hers issued forth from lips that moved far too slow and teeth…she had no teeth.
Her eyes flicked towards her hands, surely she could-
And then everything became just a bit clearer.
Surely this was a dream of sorts, was it not? It had to be. Persephone was no infant, no crying tot, she was a goddess. But the tiny fingers she curled around, the sluggish movement, the skin so soft it felt like clouds, all spoke that she was, indeed, a mere infant.
This was Persephone’s awakening. The slow process of learning, the agonizing wait through life, learning and relearning things she’d known for ages, it was slow. But Persephone was of the forest. Waiting and waiting, she could handle such things.
But as time went on, days and days going by, Persephone became less and less convinced that this was a mere dream. Dreams did not last eons and dreams were never this vivid. She was not halfway through her reincarnation when she came to the conclusion that this was some sort of spell or enchantment. All that remained was to find a way out.
For years she pondered, questioned and contemplated. As the world around her moved and shifted, she slowly adapted and changed. Friends, suitors, and family members came and went, each remarking how distant the girl before them appeared. It was as though her ethereal countenance was merely a reflection of how far her soul was from the world. Speculations abounded as she remained ever present in the far reaches of the minds of those who knew her.
Perhaps she wasn’t all together in her head…
Perhaps she was on a religious fast of sorts…
But the truth was far from it. Her mind was taken up with remedies and cures. The herbs she grew, all prospering from the powers she retained, became part of her attempt to fix what was clearly broken. Oh, she smiled and laughed. Persephone cared and consoled. She remained the perfect daughter one could hope for, the perfect friend, at least on the outside. But her actions and affections often lacked a certain strength, certain passion…something lacked within her movements as her mind was occupied elsewhere.
As the years passed, seasons came and went, Persephone’s optimism wilted. Each try was met with disappointing failure time and time again. And while the life she’d been given was anything but trying, it simply wasn’t her life. She almost wondered if she had not been placed in another’s body, thereby taking up the years given to them by Zeus.
She started to wonder if, perhaps, there was but one way to end this dream, this enchantment, this…whatever it was.
The thought entered her mind to simply end it on her own. She could not participate in this curse if she was not alive to do so, right?
Day after day, the thought haunted her as she prepared her herbs and medicine, cured the family of the mortal body she fulfilled, attended to the duties expected of her. Perhaps that was the way out, and if it was, she should do so at once. She could not keep up this charade. It simply wasn’t her life to live.
As it happened, whatever guarded the fate of her mortal life had plans for her. Before the thought could take form, Persephone found herself bedridden. A mysterious illness, the likes of which had not been seen before swept through her petite fourteen-year-old body. Unable to get to her herbs to help herself, Persephone merely faded away.
‘Perhaps,’ she thought to herself as she drew her last breath, ‘I shall wake up.’
And wake, Persephone did…to the harsh cries of a mother and the tittering of concerned midwives.
Persephone was an infant once more.
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