The world above was bright that day.
The fields stretched wide, golden with grain and green with wildflowers. Bees hummed over the blossoms, the air warm and rich with the scent of earth. It was the kind of day mortals prayed for—gentle, endless, safe.
Persephone walked among it all with her basket in hand. Her fingers brushed over the tops of flowers as she passed, gathering blooms in careful bundles. Red poppies, yellow crocus, violet irises—colors spilling into her basket like pieces of the sky brought down to the soil.
Her laughter carried softly as the nymphs followed, chasing each other in play. She moved quieter than they did, but the earth seemed to move with her, flowers leaning toward her steps, grass growing brighter in her shadow. She bent down to gather another stem, her dark hair falling across her cheek.
That was when the air shifted.
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