Gliding through the still air, he made no sound;                  Wing-shod and deft, dropped almost at her feet,                  And searched the ghostly regiments and found                  The living eyes, the tremor of breath, the beat                   Of blood in all that bodiless underground.                                           She left her majesty; she loosed the zone                                            Of darkness and put by the rod of dread.                                            Standing, she turned her back upon the throne                                            Where, well she knew, the Ruler of the Dead,                                            Lord of her body and being, sat like stone;         Stared with his ravenous eyes to see her shake          The midnight drifting from her loosened hair,          The girl once more in all her actions wake,          The blush of colour in her cheeks appear          Lost with her flowers that day beside the lake.                          The summer flowers scattering, the shout,                           The black manes plunging down to the black pit —                           Memory or dream? She stood awhile in doubt,                           Then touched the Traveller God's brown arm and met                           His cool, bright glance and heard his words ring out:                                                 "Queen of the Dead and Mistress of the Year!"                                        — His voice was the ripe ripple of the corn;                              The touch of dew, the rush of morning air —                      "Remember now the world where you were born;             The month of your return at last is here."                                                     And still she did not speak, but turned again                                                      Looking for answer, for anger, for command:                                                      The eyes of Dis were shut upon their pain;                                                      Calm as his marble brow, the marble hand                                                      Slept on his knee. Insuperable disdain                  Foreknowing all bounds of passion, of power, of art,                   Mastered but could not mask his deep despair.                   Even as she turned with Hermes to depart,                   Looking her last on her grim ravisher                   For the first time she loved him from her heart.                                       - The Return of Persephone by A.D. Hope

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      ♔ icons for PUREIRONKING beneath the cut        these icons are for this account only & may        not be used without their express permission.

                     G I V E A W A Y   W I N N E R S

         --------- you didn't think I forgot about you all, did you? (:          Here are my top three as chosen via random generator.          I will be making your 20 icons here shortly.           1. pureironking          2. motherofasgard          3. easternwindrises

betterking:

                    " Guilt is all a matter of perception. "

asskicker-grimes: