Synopsis: the story of Persephone
Afar away the light that brings cold cheer
Unto this wall, - one instant and no more
Admitted at my distant palace-door
Afar the flowers of Enna from this drear
Dire fruit, which, tasted once, must thrall me here.
Afar those skies from this Tartarean grey
That chills me: and afar how far away,
The nights that shall become the days that were.
Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing
Strange ways in thought, and listenfor a sign:
And still some heart unto some soul doth pine,
O, Whose sounds mine inner sense in fain to bring,
Continually together murmuring) —
'Woe me for thee, unhappy Proserpine'.
— D. G. RossettiThen, I was simply Kore(1), the maiden.
I lived with my mother, Demeter. My father—I assume—was Zeus. I say ‘was’ because I have no relationship with him. I have many half-brothers and half-sisters and can’t solely blame my mother for Zeus’s deviancy.
Demeter is the Goddess of fertility and harvest, but in spite of her powers to repopulate, I was her one and only. She held me close, like one of her cherished flowers, and sang to me to make me grow strong. Our relationship was quite unlike most immortal families. Most of the gods and goddesses treated their offspring and parents the way wild animals would; worse, most likely. We had a much closer association. We lived together quite removed from the others; their tribulations and misadventures disconnected from our own calm lifestyle.
I loved my mother’s creations and was enamored with their beauty. She would make fields of flowers for me and I would lie in their silky petals, blow pollen to the bees and whisper to each individual stem: “flower…flower…” My hair would tangle in their leaves, and when the sun beamed down you couldn’t tell where they began and I ended.
We were happy. My mother’s love made me love her, and my attention made her love me; we were each other’s delight. But even as I knew I was Demeter’s joy, I knew I could also be the reason for my mother’s sorrow. Me, being her only daughter, if I were to leave—if I were to get hurt.
So I stayed young and happy, carefree and reliant. I never wandered too far, I never disobeyed; I never gave anything a chance to worry her.
I was constantly surrounded by admirers. Wood nymphs who would lead me into the forest and feed me ripe fruits; teach me the silent and strong strut of the pine tree; tragic and frantic careens of Daphne and the laurel trees(2); twisted frenzied romps of the olive trees; the romantic dance of the pomegranate tree. Mermaids would call to me from the river, their tails flashing against the reflected sunlight as they sang to me and caressed my hands with their long fingers, kissing my palms. Fellow flower maidens would laugh and giggle. We’d take naps in beds of orchids, and they’d braid daffodils and hyacinths into my hair.
My mother was clever; they would guard me with their jewel-toned eyes, and whisper my doings from mouth to ear. Demeter wasn’t trying to be unkind. She gave me friends and gifts and love, but I was always to be watched, like a prized possession too delicate to handle.
But it’s a long life, being the same, even being happy. I struggled with the ordinary—ha! an ordinary that would turn any mortal head— grinned even as my jaw began to ache, my chest hurt from forced laughter.
In the hot, steamy summer nights, I would lie in musty grasses between sleep and wakefulness, breathing in the starlight and dreaming of being anywhere else. In the day I would gather flowers in the farthest fields, plucking them one at a time in a straight line away from the others, walking farther and farther until someone grinned and called me back. I would tie my skirts up high on my legs and wade into the river to rescue ducklings from rocks and fast currents—swimming to the deepest blues and thinking of going under, but knowing my mother’s mermaids would pull me back. During games and play, I’d climb the tallest trees and sit on the highest branch. I’d inhale the wind, wondering where it’s been and what it’s done, hoping to sprout giant feathered wings and follow it away. But always pulled back down to earth by wood nymphs' hands laced around my calves to make sure I wouldn’t fall.
Sometimes, if I was lucky, Athena and Artemis would visit me, fellow unwanted daughters of Zeus. They were allowed to live life on their own, mingle with the gods and other immortals. They would awaken within me indecision. At times, when the beauty and peacefulness wasn’t enough, I hated being there, in that eternal frozen state, never moving. They would appease me for a couple of hours, picking flowers and telling me stories of our brothers that made me blush. Then they’d hurry off, wave goodbye, and I’d choke, unable to watch it. Was I the only one trapped here? The only one who would—could never leave?
Those nights I think Demeter could tell. My mask would slip, and seeing her distraught daughter she’d try to comfort me from some unknown ailment.
“Have those girls made you upset?” she’d whisper, sweeping my long hair back behind my neck and summoning my favorite flowers out of the ground to gently twist up my arms and into my lap. “Shall I make sure they don’t come back?” she’d hiss, her voice betraying her feelings for me, the flowers turning black and wilting just as quickly as they’d appeared.
“N-no!”
The stagnancy was what I would have to bear, and I’d feel ashamed being so entwined in this problem, knowing there could be far worse things to deal with…far worse things that I would deal with.
You see, there had been a gamble I hadn’t known about, a plan secreted away from me. It happened one day in the meadows. I probably should have expected something like it to happen; after all, my kind are famous for stealing ourselves husbands and brides.
I was picking flowers when it happened. The thrill of flower picking was a task that was quickly losing its appeal with each passing day. When I was little I was eager for the activity; my mother used to inform me that it was my solemn duty to pick as many flowers as I possibly could. I realized as I got older, and the temples became blanketed in bouquets, that it was simply a task set to keep me busy. And even as I comprehended this, still I marched myself out into the meadows and gathered petal after petal, bud after bud. Sometimes I would stand in the same place for hours picking, essentially, the same flower over and over again; I’d pluck it, then summon another from the same spot, pluck that one, then re-grow another, pluck that one, then re-grow another… It could become dreadfully boring.
I guess you could say I was becoming a little stir-crazy. Repeatedly picking a flower was one of my more normal games, actually; there was also, see-how-many-flowers-you-can-pick-while-holding-your-breath game, and the ten-second-flower-picking-sprint game, and the ever popular try-to-pick-the-flower-your-friend-is-going-to-pick-before-they-do-and-see-how-long-it-takes-until-they-say-something game.
It was one of those days, though, when even my most imaginative games wouldn’t do. I was sitting in the middle of a verdant meadow, curling long fluffy tufts of grass around my fingers and staring off into space, sighing with the breeze. The others would circle around me, telling stories and lounging with the flora. I’d try to smile and look up, nod in the right places and squeal with excitement; but I couldn’t concentrate. There was a mantra in my head, and with my entire body I itched to leap away. “—Got to get out…Got to get out…GOT TO GET OUT—”
I was always the willing subject, and while I had been that way my entire life, it was totally against my nature. Wasn’t I one of Olympus? Couldn’t I control the land and bewitch any mortal mind? I jumped to my feet, having convinced myself once again of my importance. But these moments, while coming often, passed quickly. My fellow maidens and nymphs smiled serenely up at me, they never seemed to think that anything I did was unusual or strange. Sometimes I wondered if they had a mind of their own.
“Where are we going, Kore?”
I smiled at them and laughed; laughter was one of the only languages that they really understood. In my mother’s world everything had to be happy, so they couldn’t comprehend sadness. Laughter settled them down and made them complacent. They laughed along with me.
“Stay here,” I smiled, waving them off. “I’m going to pick flowers so I can make a necklace.”
They gasped, clapping their hands together and stole excited glances. “Oh, Kore! Let us help!”
“No, stay here!” I forced a smile. “You’ll ruin my surprise.”
They giggled, falling into one another’s arms. “We love surprises!” they chorused.
I moved away and blew them kisses. When I thought I was far enough and they had stopped watching me, I ran. I ran as fast as I could, as far as I was allowed, to the farthest meadow I’d ever ventured to. Even as I stood there, far away from any other creature, I could still see endless meadows stretching out to the open sea. Enna was my home, the island I lived on; even if I ran as far as I could, I would never be able to go anywhere.
My eyes welled up, and, breathing in deeply, I clutched at my gown, wanting to scream and rage. I could feel my perfectly constructed mask cracking. At that point I didn’t think I could take it any more—didn’t think that my life was enough.
A tear rolled down my cheek; it fell to the ground and blossomed. I looked down; out of my sadness a flower had sprung. I blinked. Several more narcissus bloomed, their white petals contrasting with the green fields. I looked back up, amazed. There were narcissus as far as I could see, starting at my bare feet and leading me away. I knew every single plant and flower on Enna, but never before had I seen a narcissus. I didn’t know what it could mean; was my mother giving me another gift?
It was against every warning and lesson I was taught, but I decided to wander away with them. The faces of the narcissus kissed my feet as I stepped into their midst, following this brilliant white road to a place I’d never dared go before. Kore never broke the rules, never spoke out of turn, never wandered off on her own. Maybe I needed to be someone besides Kore.
A gust of wind blew, rattling the blooms. I remember looking up and noticing grey clouds gathering, blocking out the sun. In all my life on the island I had never seen rain or a day that wasn’t drenched in golden sunlight. I gasped, the temperature had suddenly dropped and the wind picked up again. My skirts whipped around my thighs, and my hair flew out about me. Heat lighting sizzled the air, thunder crackled the sky, and a growing roar was becoming louder. I was terrified, it sounded like screams in my ears.
I circled around, fearing my moment of freedom had caused something horrible to happen. In the distance I could hear steady pounding and a voice—someone laughing. All around me the flowers fell like dead men; shriveling in on themselves then turning to dust, swept away with a wind that stung my eyes and burned my throat. I started to run, horrified at what I saw; I had drifted farther than I thought. I was much too far for anyone to see my figure or hear my frantic cries.
A mistake—I looked back. Like some kind of nightmare, the ground had cracked open, dividing the plain into multiple fractured plates. Like shattered glass, the fault lines expanded outwards, racing against me.
He appeared, with the beauty of the gods and the eyes of the dead. He commanded a silver chariot drawn up out of the chasm by four giant, wild horses; they had mad rolling eyes and their labored breath left white puffs in the air. They were jet-black, inky as the moonless sky. Their muscles pulled and strained with every gallop as the whole monstrosity neared. He smiled with a kind of ferocity and called out to his beasts, urging them to go faster.
Momentarily stunned, I wondered how this vision had emerged and what exactly it meant to me. Realizing I had slowed, I shook myself out of my stupor and forged ahead, sprinting, plunging into the wind. Rocks dug into my feet and low grasses slashed my ankles; I tried to breathe, my throat searing.
I flew across those fields, lighter than the air; faster than I’d ever ran before. But even as my leg muscles contracted and pulsed, they couldn’t beat four horses.
I dove to the side, slipped off my feet and tried to roll out, I hoped that my change of course would give me a few seconds head start. But he reached out with one arm, leaning over the moonlight chariot. I screamed, his freezing touch burned my skin, his forearm pushed into my gut.
He hugged me to his side, his breath on the back of my neck, making goose bumps rise on my arms. He laughed again, quietly, in my ear. I screamed once more, hoped that my noise would retract him; I screamed so loud that the horses screamed back and the grass jumped up around the chariot wheels. But he just held me tighter, squeezing so hard it had hurt to inhale. I groaned in the back of my throat, kicked my feet and thrashed. With my hands I tried to break his hold on me, with my nails I tried to rake his skin from his bones. He lifted me off my feet, and sneering with anger, he crashed me back to his side, jarring me. I fought to get away, and I reached out to bludgeon, jabbed the heel of my palm upwards towards the attacker’s face and struck. He hissed, jerking as I pushed his head away—his grip loosened and I flung forward, breaking his hold on me, and threw myself off the chariot.
I fell and hit the ground hard, landing first with my palms and then on my face as my elbows gave out. It’s hard to describe that day to you, because even as I hand out every word to explain my story, it still doesn’t convey my pain at every noun and verb. I tried again to breathe, to breathe, to breathe—my life up until that point did nothing to prepare me for bruises and bloodied skin. I had at once forgotten my entrapment on that land and only wished for the safety that my mother offered. It had been so easy to scoff at my flowered prison and mourn the adventures I’d never have, but as I sat there, the only thing I was wishing for was anything but the unfamiliar.
I pushed myself to my knees, noticing my ripped dress and discarded belt, I spat blood out of my mouth and squinted from the pounding headache above my right eye. Already I could see the stranger turning back for me, he crushed flowers in his path and scattered blossoms of every color. Shaking, I hauled myself back to my feet, terrified and struggling to breathe.
“LEAVE ME ALONE!”
I stumbled back, squeezed my eyes shut and hurled my hands up in front of me. The ground trembled and shook, then sprouted out thick bark-like roots. They shivered, budding thousands of bright green leaves and branches that twisted together and formed a formidable wall.
I was naïve, I had never had to face an enemy before—never had to face a person who wished me harm. He stormed through it, the leaves curling and dying at his touch, disintegrating; pulling up to a heavy halt, the earth beneath his wheels was scorched and flung apart. The horses snorted, pawing the dirt and stomped the ground. I stepped back—my legs gave out underneath me. He reached out with one hand, his haunted eyes a flame.
“Come to me, Demeter’s Daughter.” He seemed smug, his voice low and raspy.
I turned to run once again, but before I could even get to my feet, his hand wrapped around my upper arm, so tight that I cried out.
“I tire of the hunt,” he growled, pulling me back into the chariot. I pounded on his chest, and even tried to bite his hand, but he had learned better this time and kept me close. The god wrapped his arm around my waist and spurred the horses forward.
There I was, the helpless goddess. If I was Artemis, goddess of the hunt, I could whistle and stop those horses in their tracks and strike him down with my arrows. If I was Athena, goddess of wisdom, I’d have Nike(3) at my right hand and my stare would stop him where he stood. If I was Demeter, my own mother goddess, I’d strike the land cold, freezing the chariot solid and killing the horses in their step. But I was only Kore, goddess of small things. I could make the grass grow and the fruit ripen, but I could not save myself.
“MOTHER!”
The chariot entered the dark chasm and closed behind us, leaving no sign anything had changed.
They say that no one noticed my absence for quite some time, not even the nymphs remembered my presence. It wasn’t until my mother came to get me that evening that people began to detect that something was amiss. My mother was furious; she cursed those girls and every word that would come out of their mouths(4); she scattered them to the winds and went to search for me herself. She scoured the Earth and made people talk in ways that only Olympians and distraught mothers could. But she couldn’t find me. I was nowhere on Earth…
Hades had dragged me down to hell. The god who ruled over the Underworld and whose touch meant death wanted me as a wife—the Goddess of Re-growth, the first living thing in Hades, as the Queen of the Underworld.
The first night I cried. His place was dark and cold. Shadows dressed the corners of every room and hallway, I tried to hide, and became lost in a maze of icy dungeons and chilly court yards. When he found me, I was shivering in a corner of a far off room, trying to shield myself to the cold seeping into my bones—terrified it would somehow change me—make me like him. He held me close and bandaged my feet and palms, kissed my cheek and laughed coldly as I struggled against him.
The second night I slapped him, and he hit me back, sneering in distaste. I had escaped his advisers and haunted lackeys and traveled deep into his country, trying to cross the three rivers of death and advance past the horrible three-headed guard dog. Hades had many traps and mazes to his kingdom. No one entered or left it easily, his grip was iron and he was possessive of his belongings. By then I could already feel his pull, the air sat heavy in my chest, and I could feel my gaze drawn back. But my skin itched for the sunlight. Still, I was unable to escape; the sight of the rivers sent me spinning, the repulsion made me physically sick. They may had been given the name ‘river’ but they mirrored nothing of their namesake, for they swelled and bulged and twisted like coiled knots, the color of the water was black, reflecting the whole sickly kingdom. And most importantly, there was no life, nothing could live in there, the only guardians were the twisted bent shapes of the hooded boatmen, ferrying across howling souls, reaching out of their ragged robes with skeleton hands to take the ferryman’s price. Gold and silver rattling in their palms and a skull’s morbid smile imprinted in my head.
On the third night I was bound in a wedding ritual. The three crone sisters of fate(5) that resided in the dark of Hades’ kingdom wound us together with sparkling gold string, tying me to his side. He placed a silver coronet on my head and presented to me a plate of food to eat, symbolizing our bounty together. I shook with rage at the slight of my mother’s power, as if this food of the dead could compare with Demeter’s crop, as if he didn’t know that I had tried unsuccessfully to grow, anything, since I was captured.
“You insult me!” I screamed, knocking the plate out of his hand, and tried to break out of the golden web, but being unable to, as it held tight.
Down in that cage I resolved that nothing would pass my lips, the food of the dead was a trick, an imitation. It was nothing in comparison to what I marveled at on the surface. But I was becoming worried, my fury since my kidnapping had grown with each passing night. I was becoming snappy, reserved, and cold. Me, the smiling, golden child of Demeter, was becoming cold. The longer I stayed, the more I resembled my husband.
At the end of the first week I came accustomed to the ways of the Underworld. The days never began there; Hades’ kingdom was passed in nights, the grey skies casting an eerie flicker on all the happenings. After our wedding, Hades had abandoned me to the company of shades and horrible creatures, and as much as I despised him, I felt unsure and nervous without his presence…almost…missed him.
After a while the sun god Helios who sees all things, told Demeter of a horrid tale. It involved Hades, Lord of the Dead making a pact with Zeus—the bastard child’s father—that granted the girl’s hand without the knowledge of the mother. After all, the mother had stolen the girl away from the other gods and their proposals; Apollo, Ares, and Hermes were all denied - what gave Hades a better chance? The Ruler of the Underworld coveted what he couldn’t have. The story continued—Hades leads the girl astray with blooming white petals, then kidnaps her and drags her down to the Underworld to be his Queen.
So angry was my mother after hearing this that she struck the world cold, she killed every plant that touched the Earth, the trees were barren and the flowers froze and died. Every river and lake was trapped in ice, and she cast the sun into hiding. The animals that survived fled, and blizzards terrorized the land. The people moaned and pleaded, they had no food and no shelter strong enough to keep them. If Demeter was to mourn, so would everyone else.
When Hades learned of her frenzy and saw the souls rushed into the dark, he laughed and held me tight, like the prize that he had won.
“Persephone(6), my Persephone,” he whispered to my ear, his voice raising the hair on the back of my neck. I turned away, he kissed my collarbone and grinned against my skin. I pondered the new name, and raised a hand to his cheek, amused at his affection for me. Of course he must have adored me; the first time he left his kingdom was to fetch me.
Demeter persisted for twelve months of days and twelve months of night. Finally, finally, Zeus gave in…
My husband came for me deep in the midnight gardens. They were a cheap deception, but still lured me with their haunted beauty. Those gardens were a curse, but my favorite place in his palace. They cultivated like a grove of skeleton trees and grew red-pink fruits. They mocked me, not being really alive but still producing; those trees were a ghostly image of what my mother had offered me and it physically pained me to sit there, trying still to make things grow for me, but being unable to tear myself away. I commanded Hades’ servants—my servants, to build me a throne under the pomegranate trees and threatened anyone who bothered me there.
I snarled at the interruption, but Hades pulled me to my feet and hugged me to his chest. He reached up into the twisted branches and pulling down a bright pomegranate, ripped it in half.
“Before you leave me, eat.” he offered, indifferent.
I stared, watched the juice run down his hands like blood. I had refused to eat or drink since I was dragged into Hades, he knew that, and he knew what would happen if I did eat. In those days I would drift through the Underworld watching him watch me, glaring at the dinner table as he took an extra helping just because I was there. I may have been married to him, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me fail. Hades wasn’t a good man, but I knew he loved me. He loved me in a way different than my mother and her warmth did. I knew I couldn’t stand going back and being Kore. I knew I couldn’t stay here and never live. I knew I couldn’t be at either place.
But in the end, I knew I wished for change, and had to receive it when it came; so I accepted the fruit of the dead, and one at a time ate six bejeweled seeds(7).
Hades smiled, his ivory skin reflecting in the dim candle light. He thought he had tricked me. My husband was cold and cruel, but so too was I.
I was Persephone, Goddess of the spring and fall, of life, of death, of rebirth and Queen of the Underworld. I could be both the Emerging One(8)—the flower in the summer, and the Iron Queen(9)—the curse on the lips of many.
I smiled back, my teeth stained by blood.
Foot Notes:
(1)-Greek for, literally, the maiden, girl.
(2)-A Greek myth were a nymph named Daphne was being chased by Apollo and prayed to the River god Peneus to help her, and he changed her into a laurel tree to escape capture.
(3)-The Goddess of victory and triumph who is often pictured sitting on Athena’s right shoulder.
(4)-In the myth Demeter turns them into Sirens, creatures with the head of a female and the body of a bird. They lived on an island (Sirenum scopuli; three small rocky islands) and with the irresistible charm of their song they lured mariners to their destruction on the rocks surrounding their island.
(5)-Three sisters: Klotho spins the thread of life, Lakhesis determines the length of the thread and Atropos cuts the thread when the proper time has come for death. They are called the Fates and reside in the Underworld, even though Hades has no power over them.
(6)-Means: “She who destroys the light.” Also known as Proserpine or Proserpina.
(7)-In the myth of Persephone and Hades, eating the food of the dead makes you remain in the Underworld, but since Persephone only eats six pomegranate seeds, she remains in the Underworld for six months and returns to her mother for six months. When she’s in the Underworld Demeter mourns and it’s winter, when she’s returned to her mother, it becomes summer.
(8)-Persephone is known by many names: the Emerging One, the goddess and bringer of spring is one of them.
(9)-When Persephone is in the Underworld people are so afraid of her that they don’t speak her name aloud, they only call her the Iron Queen, and use her name in curses.
Re: Pomegranate
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will eat you!
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