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Persephone: Part 2

2/06/2016 Laura Watkins 0 Comments

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I'm excited to share with you my own retelling of Persephone (whose name I mispronounced for years!) This myth has many versions but always left so much to the imagination (and believe me, my imagination went wild). I'll be sharing parts of the books as I write them (alternating between Arabesque and Persephone), so please be patient with any errors you may find, as these are first drafts! Start reading the first chapter here.


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Part 2
Persephone
Persephone shivered. Her father's wife was not only notoriously jealous, but infamously cruel as well. She tried not to wonder, if not for Demeter's great power, what would have become of them?

Zeus had never dared visit nor show favoritism toward Persephone, for fear of rekindling Hera's wrath. At least, that was what her mother said. She suspected her mother's dislike of the god kept him at bay more than his wife.

She could not approve of her father, but felt a connection to him. Was his search for romance, however ill-fated, naught but an effort to add warmth and beauty to his life?

Persephone often wondered what romantic love was like. She felt deep love for her mother, friends, and the earth, but it was clear that love was not as consuming. Why else would anyone leave the comfort of their parents' home to live with another? Or poets sing of it? Why else would her father roam the world seeking it out? The nymphs reveled in it. Such love....

"Such a pretty thing," a deep voice.

She dropped her brush and stared wide-eyed above her.

Surely this stranger was not a threat? The absent babbling of dryads and naiads was unsettling.
Though the sun was at his back, light illuminated his handsome and kind face.

"There, now. I'd not wish to startle you," he said, gently placing the brush back into her hand. Her friends giggled around her. "I see you are no nymph, my lady. What is your name?"

He rested his ease upon a mossy rock, near the bank. Twittering naiads pushed and crowded to sit at his feet.

Seeing he and her friends seemed acquainted, she felt more at ease, though her fluttering stomach reminded her that this was the first man she could remember meeting.

"No, sir, I am not a nymph," she answered, rising to her feet. She straightened. "I am Persephone Kore, daughter of Demeter."

A sparkling glint shone in his eyes, and he ran his hand over his curly hair. "I see," he said. "And who, may I ask, is your father, Persephone Kore, daughter of Demeter?"

It irked that he was not impressed by the name of her mother, but, surely, he would tremble at the name of her father.

"Lord Zeus, king of Olympus," she replied defiantly.

The nymphs' shocked hush reminded Persephone that such a loud declaration could bring the attention of the god or goddess upon her. But she did not waver. It was the right of a daughter to invoke her father's name. She was a goddess, daughter of the king. No one, even the queen, dared threaten her.

A quiet smile played upon his face, though he was silent. He reached out and examined the pure, white flower that Io had inspired.

"You are your mother's daughter," he laughed gruffly. "You have Demeter's gifts and beauty, but I see my boldness in you as well."

She gasped, then whispered, "Father Zeus?"

----More coming next week!----

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