Abduction. Some say that I am a queen, destined by birth, first in line for the throne. Desired by the Kingdom and its king.
Everyone knows the myth of the seasons changing, and the pomegranates that " regretfully" to others, brought the annual fi...
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AUTHOR'S NOTES: I WANT TO THANK ANGELCUPCAKE23 FOR ADDING MY STORY ONTO A LIBRARY. THANK YOU!
AND THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR CHECKING THIS STORY OUT!
ORGINALLY PUBLISHED AS AN IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ! HOWEVER, DUE TO CERTIAN CHANGES OF THE SCEDULE, THE NOTIFICATION IS NO LONGER IN EFFECT. HERE IS A BONUS CHAPTER! ENJOY!
Years Ago:
Mother cradles me in my sleep: my body drapes over her lap as she whispers a chant ever so sweetly.
Rock-a-by baby in the tree top.
When the wind blow, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
And down will come baby cradle and all.
Purring against her collarbone, I am half awake. Half asleep. She holds me tightly against her breast. She keeps me in warmth.
Something about mother dwindles the anxiety and stress caused by others around the great fields I call home.
Since the first time the goddess has laid her eyes on mine for the very first time, she's reduced any chance at an abduction. At any given chance, she'll prance. Even with her babe in her grasp.
Always paranoid.
Until now.
Softly mother stands up, holding me tenderly in place with the left arm crossing my back. Her right palm on the back of my head, practically carrying my little figure. Humming still, she continues dryly as dusk reaches. Any moment, I'll shut eye.
Placing my body on the pillow top mattress of hers, she tucks me in with a smile spread across her glossy lips. Yarning as she finishes her soft humming. Heavy eyelids with violet shade underneath her chocolate shaded orbs. A runny nose as well.
For some reason mother's well exhausted.
A young child can be exhausting, plus an overtime job is overkill to the max. Every mother knows that, so does Demeter.
In the hut of hers, she lays on top of another, larger mattress. Pondering she thinks about the "chores" of motherhood and her "duties" for her people. Harvesting the fields for charitable causes are harsh. Sharing the fields with the common folk are harsher, especially to those in need to apprentice work from the goddess of harvest herself.
Before she knew it, she was asleep.
During her sleep, she does not dream at all. It's pitch black in a viod.
From around the corner appears a ghastly figure: seething at the sight of the unconscious woman. Floating above the sun kissed woman, the figure waves for another to come through the front door. One by one, pottery vases are breaking as the ghastly figure vanishes, only to appear again out of nowhere.
Others appears as a troupe within the hut. Six or seven other ghastly figures surrounds the first in a half circle. The first clears his throat. "Persephone is in here, somewhere."
"Too easy my lord."
The first kneels on the ground and places a palm over his forehead with exhaustion. A golden helmet with violet shaded wings on the very ground next to him. "Centuries may pass rather quickly, however, a score hasn't reached its end."
No. It. Hasn't.
Beautiful daisies and carnations release from both of his palms.
