Persephone drags herself up endless stairs, her mother’s touch more hindrance than boon.

In her grief, Demeter had starved the world above while Persephone starved below, not daring to eat from Hades’ table. Not until she knew their love was more than fleeting.

He watched as she grew gaunt, as her fine silks hung loose about her form. He pulled her into his arms on his ebon throne and bade Hypnos grant her sleep while her belly growled. The lord of the dead went himself to Lethe and brought water in a silver ladle. She drew tiny sips, enough to take pain but leave memory intact.

Then came Hermes, with news of the barren world, and she knew she must return. The lovers wept as the swift one waited, and Persephone began her ascent.

Now she climbs toward daylight. She nearly doesn’t see Hades’ final gift scattered on the stone steps, his plea for her heart encapsulated in three blood-red seeds.

Pulling free of her mother’s grasp, Persephone gathers them up and lifts them to her lips. Love tastes bittersweet.