@destroyslight (from here)
Persephone sat upon a green hillock at dusk, her loose white peplos trailing carelessly behind her in the grass. She was watching a procession of mortals pass beneath, chanting some sort of hymn, unintelligible from this distance. A festival, she thinks, judging by the baskets overflowing with fruit and grain. In the torchlight they bear, she spots what must be fresh lamb’s blood on the hands of several nearby men. Demeter would have immediately been able to name the occasion, as well as its purpose. To Persephone, it looked like a great deal of aimless noise and misery.
She hugged her knees to her, glancing over at her companion. ❝They do,❞ she admitted, somewhat guiltily. A God had no obligation to understand the goings of mere humanity, but it felt cold of her, looking down at such tumultuous passion without being moved.
However, it seemed so meaningless. Supplies and livestock wasted, all in worship of someone who likely wouldn’t notice or care. A fervor, yes, but it was all simply a reminder of divine loyalty that had turned into a spectacle. Was it in honor of Athena, or Apollo? Or perhaps some great war, ended long before any of them were born? Who could tell?
❝What do you think they’re singing about?❞
Euryale lay on the grass, idly twirling her silver owl medallion between her fingers. Stheno would yell at her if she got grass-stains on her robes, but it was a lovely evening - she’d take that risk.
“I’m pretty sure it’s for your mother.” she murmured, taking in the baskets of fruit and grain. She breathed deeply of the air, taking in the scent of freshly-spilled blood. “And... mutability.” she sat up a little, puffing out her chest in her best imitation of a pompous preacher. “Therefore revere the gifts of Mother Demeter in all things, enjoy them while you may, for all things in this world are ephemeral!”
She grinned at Persephone, returning to her usual voice. “Okay, so it’s a fair point. But most of us got it the first time.”
