Pat Gunn (dachte) wrote,
Pat Gunn

Persephone's Goodbye Party

The party was magnificent, with music, lights, and good foods lasting into the night, a tribute to our sinking star. We all loved her, I think, and when she was not Queen, we were all, at times, her consorts. Her smile was the warm wind through the islands, the warm of the sun on our skin. And yet for all its glory, the party was a lie, a lie we told ourselves with enough splendour to last through death, the dour in splendour indeed. A memory of private joys, of tracing a finger along the small of her back, that was for nights before, not for gatherings, but she smiles and understands what's in our eyes. Her time, we think, is harder than ours in this departure. The reign of the dead is colder than that of the living, it is said. I can't feel her pain though -- I largely mourn for myself, and feel bad in so doing, but at least it is honest. The party begins to reach a crescendo, a frantic last breath before the winds come to mark when we must go. A light thought of defiance, to claim her hand by slaying her husband, enters our mind, but that would be hubris, and so we turn back. The incense begins to tendrilise, to disperse out of the pocket in the land we have made for it, and our time is marked. Already the sound of the chariot under the hills is apparent, the trembling hand drops the pen and runs.


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