Persephone had run long in jest and merriment only to find a crueler and denser forest, most barren and lacking. Exhaustion stemmed her skill for growth and this prompted her to proclaim aloud:
“Any plant would I grant a lineage of a greatness unto should only my hunger be satisfied this day. I am the Goddess Persephone. I ring my words true. Growth is my specialty and planting my hue.”
Having spoken not long the trees began to strain, grass growing fuller, and bushes dense, no refrain. But one unbecoming vine of many purple grapes took heart and strained the most all abandonment of traipse.
So soon as it started it all seemed to cease there were flowers all round and fruits without crease. Persephone looked about and decided most quick, which of the many that she was to pick. Single was the fruit but largest by far it was crimson in color and yielded no mar. It had come from the lowest of all, yes a vine, but in all of its efforts created something divine.
Reaching to the ground and snapping it’s stem Persephone ask aloud what the fruit would be then and the grapevine responded with a joyous such sound but not with a name for that thing red and round. So Persephone continued and lifted it loft that all the earth know that this fruit is never to be scoffed.
She then cracked it in half and held part to her lips but underneath her feet rose from a rose from the crypts. “Blessed be Gaia!” Persephone proclaimed. “She too sees the value that this fruit now be named!” So the tree’s round the forest got to creaking along, to give it a name for the vine was not strong. “I think that we have it, yes that will just do. This is a Pomegranate I behold unto you.” But soon as she’d spoken the ground tore apart along side the hope of the grapevines dear heart.
Swallowed by chasm and taken on chariots edge Persephone dropped the fruit along a crevasses hedge. But the vine hadn’t known, for it had not the eyes. And so it began to covet and also to despise those God’s in the heavens that speak nothing but lies. It built up a single and solemn such sound to be heard by the world, respected and renowned. And such was the plea, most of malice and spite, born to the world instead of the hoped child bright:
“If I must wither let it be now known that in death I curse a God to a death as I’ve shown.” And the mother plant did wither and die on that day knowing not of the role that its seed would then play. So here begins the tale of the death of a man who arose to the top in such as no other can. The earth is so ruled by the light it is shown and bleeds out of spite till the tempter’s overthrown.