May 15, 2021
“I can’t complain,”
Said Dread Persephone,
shrugging one round, brown shoulder, tossing her jet black curls.
“About the man. He’s a decent sort, and loves me dearly. And to stand above the dead, this kingdom, ever growing, it’s more than any girl could dream.”
“But truth be told,” she added, as we wandered through that pale, unending land. “My mother didn’t raise me far from that great mountain, amongst the flowers, so that my father could give me over to his brother, as a substitute for a stolen crown and birthright.”
“So if she weeps and sends me gifts and punishes the world for his great sin, I’d call it justice.”
And here she paused and contemplated a pomegranate.
“After all, who said girls shouldn’t love their mothers?”