Sometimes I sit and think about Persephone. About the Maiden and the Queen. I think about how she appears to me, what I associate with her, about her life in the Underworld and what it must have been like to return from Hades that first year, the taste of pomegranate fresh upon her tongue. I wonder at her relationship with her mother.
The more I find myself thinking about her, the more I develop godcanons or associations. I feel she has a connection to Cerberus, that three-headed dog of the Underworld. She sits with him from time to time, just a woman and her dog, deep underground. He would protect her, if the need arose.
She sometimes sits by the rivers of the Underworld. If you need her, look to the Rivers Lethe or Acheron. You can find her by their banks, toeing the line between land and water.
Winter has come, the first snows of the year descending on our area. She is deep below the earth now, reigning Queen of the Underworld. The crown lays upon her brow, its red jewels shining like the seeds she took, binding her to these depths.
They wonder now if she knew what she was doing when she took those seeds. If it was hunger that finally made her lift her hand, or if love caught her in its grasp. Some ask if she did it to flee her mother’s grip on her, a way to flee and start her own life.
I sit her and I wonder if they realize that she always knew what she was doing. That my goddess is more cunning than they realize and she never acts unless she knows the outcome.