"Persephone. Her cheeks were smooth as the petals of flowers, white shading into red along the flawless lines of her face. They were like the perfect halves of a pomegranate, though her eyes were as sharp as flint. Persephone sat on the throne as though it had been made for her. She loomed above me on the far end of the room, a spiked onyx crown resting on her brow. The more modest seat beside her was empty, and there was no trace of Hades. This was no surprise; even mortals knew who truly ruled here. When Odysseus and his men sought to call the spirits of the dead during their long journey home from Troy, they would pay homage not to Hades, but to Persephone. At first, I mistook the ivory designs on Persephone's throne for inlay or fine decoration. Then I noticed the length of a femur along the armrests and the rounded dome of a skull under each delicate hand. And flowers, everywhere flowers, even in this lightless place. Real ones blooming from pots lining the walls, false ones gracing the sides of her throne in a profusion of jewels. Persephone, the goddess of springtime. Death gives rise to life, and rotting corpses fertilize the soil so that crops can grow. In many ways, Persephone was better suited to the domain of death than her husband, who had been assigned to it by edict of Zeus. She, on the other hand, had been born for it." - Psyche on Persephone, "Eros and Psyche" by Luna McNamara
