There is a story from when world was young. The daughter of a Goddess was so beautiful even the spirits of the underworld desired her. One day in the end of summer she was picking flowers in the valley of Nysa and was set upon by spirits from bellow.
She was taken away from the world of mortals and in grief her mother no longer brought the spring and the world faded unto a long dry autumn and then settled in eternal winter.
In this time frozen ground caused years of suffering while crops and fields of grain died, orchards withered and streams ran dry as sunlight in the mountains no longer melted the ice. Whole peoples were removed from the Earth leaving only empty villages and temples.
Demeter calling the closest friends of Persephone, the Sirens and the Muses to go out into the planes of existence to seek out their true friend. They all came back empty handed and in a rage Demeter cursed them to walk the Earth until she could be found, eating only of lost travelers and trapped dreamers in the waking nightmares of comas and shock.
The world suffered in this time of grief. Pastoral meadows and verdant glades turned to ash and rock. There is no song in the air or hopeful silver lining to storm clouds. There was a hunger and starvation that showed in malnourished bears and wildcats.
Where flowers and streams effortlessly brought honey bees, lady bugs and happy sheep. Now there is parasitic wasps, cordyceps fungus rotting the minds of insects and men.
For our lost Persephone, there was no Justice. For Persephone she grew to hate her old life and every one in it. She started to love the romance of death, the poetry in loss. She felt a new power in spite, hate and loathing.
She was forever despondent. Wife of a predator “False God.” She was created as a virginal love Goddess who was not loved or in love. She was a trophy on a shelf, ignored and in a sick way she even fantasized about abuse or lustful attention as she grew old as a prisoner.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Persephone was doomed to lay in wait for the rare attention she was afforded. Other than her ability to gain her own agency there was no hope of escape. What should a God of Spring and meadows do in a land she was unequipped for? She studied magic, the occult and esoteric. Changing her manifestation from a young nymph of lost youth to a dark soul lying in wait.
Demeter cried for help from the old Gods and none were willing to intercede. This is how the mystery cult of Eleusis came about. The wailing mothers of missing daughters prayed to Demeter and her daughter Persephone. Cycles of life and death led to centuries of forgetfulness.
Her cult, and that of her mother was growing stale in the world. The myth of her torment and desire for rescue forgotten. But a new name arose in the world. Hecate, Goddess of night, revenge, murder and foul plots.
When Persephone returned her manifestation was not the idyllic child of flowers in bloom and raising the wine of summer. She had learned to enjoy her torment and without remorse she planned the day of her vengeance on all who failed her.
She does not blame Aries who is known as “Yahovah the Yaldabaoth” who has enthralled reality into a monstrous layer upon layer of dimensions of strife, endless war and recreational abuse for pleasure of all lifeforms that have ever lived before and will ever live again.
There is a Satanic lust in this world for suffering. The wounded go on to thrive on wounding others. Former slaves relish reliving the torment visited upon them in the wailing eyes of those they go on to victimize. People’s marked for massacre and ethnic cleansing are empowered to do the same to their neighbors.
This is the legacy of the old evil spirit, demonic madness that roils under the surface of nicety and platitudes, the possession that comes from those who suffered and desire nothing more than to stamp the light of joy out of others in the world.
Persephone blames those who claim to be good and use the cloth of religion to fuel their own selfish appetites. She blames the Goddesses who claim such divine motives, who abandoned her to centuries of misery in a frigid tomb of aching despair, abject suffering and what could have been if she had come of age in the ancient morning light at the dawn of the world. Instead she wallowed in torment, terror and lamentations.
Endless Lament in the belly of Hades brings forth unknown magic in the soul of the innocent who has been fed a diet of eternal ugliness. Where beautiful songs and incantations of love once lived, now there is something else. A festering like maggots in the eyes of a starving infant. Who cries for what it cannot describe or foresee, just an instinctive knowledge something, somewhere is being eaten away like eyes of a child infested by botflies and parasitic wasps. Nurtured on sour milk of a starving mother whose love has long been dormant in her own yarning for the release of death.
Cold flesh kept alive only by night terrors and fever dreams. Where pinching the flesh and puncturing the days with open wounds is better than feeling nothing and forgetting. Hope has an expiration date when the world is laughing and loving while you fester and rot during stolen youth.