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Demeter waited for her daughter by the door, it had been six long months and a gentle rapping would come any minute. But as sunrise turned mid morning, turned noon, turned after noon, turned dusk worry began gnawing at her gut.
Demeter left for her garden, the sky stained a wine red as the sun kissed the horizon. She was to collect fresh herbs, which had just begun to grow as spring had just brought a gentle warmth.
As she wandered down the path leading from the back of her home she saw a black shape, a shadow, a void in the world, dressed in her daughter's white peplos with a veil over its head and face. She knew it was Persephone at once, she set aside her basket and approached. It was facing North, where the meadow it was taken from lay. It didn’t look at Demeter who now stood next to it.
Demeter curled her fingers around its hand about to urge it to come home, when it spoke.
“He took me,” it muttered. Demeter paused.
“He took me,” it said louder. “There! Over there! He took me!” it said, swinging its arm out pointing north, voice cracking. Then it let out a horrid wail before sobbing. It crumpled, curling into itself and resting upon its knees on the ground.
“He took me, he took me,” it mumbled over and over, like it was the only thing it knew to say. Its right hand still holding onto Demeter’s, its left arm curled burying its face into the crook of its elbow. Demeter knelt, pulling her hand free and wrapping herself around the small, weeping thing.
She remembered how Persephone was so frightened of everything as a child. Though what she feared most was the dark and thunderstorms. Even more frightened she would become of thunderstorms at night. She would wake up to the loud drumming of thunder rolling over head, and begin to scream and cry, Demeter would rush to her, shushing and calming her.
“Your father is angry, but come morning he will calm. Rest child, please, he means you no harm” she would croon.
It was no use, Persephone would cling to her, beating her tiny fists against her mother. It slowly calmed itself, its sobs turning into gentle breathing.
Demeter said nothing. Arms still around it, she rose to her feet, dragging it up with her and ushered it into her home.
“It's growing dark,” she said, softly.
Now closer, she could glimpse under the veil. Where a person’s face should have been was smooth. All its features lost.
By the hearth it sat and Demeter washed it’s hands, pouring cool water over its palms letting it spill into a dish. She offered it fresh figs and well kept wine, it did not eat or drink.
Demeter told it of all the mortal toils it had missed and how Demeter occupied the days leading up to its visit and how spring showed early, how that must mean it was eager to return, how it was home now.
It would mutter a quiet “he took me” or “I was just picking flowers.” Demeter’s calm look would falter and she would say “your home now” and let a moment of silence pass before carrying on.
After it muttered “He will take me back” Demeter had decided it was time for it to rest and so she helped it prepare for sleep and once it was resting she stepped out into the brisk night air and wept quietly for her daughter.
Once she was done letting ugly tears roll down her pretty face she breathed. In then out.
Whatever had returned must be her daughter, it slept in her daughters bed wrapped in her blankets its pillows once kept her daughters head comfortable, in a vague way it moved like her daughter. It, at the very least, had her daughters memories, even if it was only the worst ones.
Demeter entered her home, she glanced at it one last time. It seemed comfortable. She crawled into her own bed, before she let herself sleep she whispered “I love you."
***
Small hands and nimble feet. Persephone was pitter-pattering about. Demeter was cooking dinner, tending to lentils with care as Persephone babbled, words tumbling from her without meaning. Demeter smiled and nodded along, giving an occasional ‘uh huh’ or ‘oh my.’
Demeter served her daughter dinner and by the time they finished their meal and had full bellies the hearth was growing dim. So she scooped up her baby and wrapped her in warm blankets before singing her a soft calm song and bringing her to bed, her daughter curled around her and she curled around her daughter.
***
When dawn came dancing across the sky Demeter parted ways with it. She kissed roughly were its brows would be letting the veil fall back over its face.
Then she turned its hands over and placed her lips to the back of each. She tried not to cry in front of it as it wondered off each step hesitant she could hear it mutter a soft sound that could have been a simple ‘goodbye.’
Demeter held herself strong, and watched it climb into the chariot. It did not look at her as it returned to its husband.
***
“They were sweet” it had warbled to Demeter.
It was morning and Demeter was serving it bread made of barley.
“What was sweet?” Demeter had asked.
“The pomegranate seeds.” It said calmly. “I expected them to be tart.”