Page 21 of Where Darkness Bloomed
Above, the crows drifted in.
Chapter 10
Every year, mortal women traveled to Eleusis to pay homage to the goddess of the harvest. Flower garlands, honey cakes, casks of rich wine—all were laid on Demeter’s altar with whispered prayers of devotion and gratitude.
There, the goddess herself stood, solemn and stately, accepting tributes with the grace and poise of one long revered.
Bored of spectacle and ceremony, Kore remained outside among the children.
Chubby toddlers wobbled after her through the meadows, their squeals of delight ringing in the warm air. Pressing her fingers into the rich earth, she coaxed strawberries to grow, laughing as they feasted on ripe fruit with sticky fingers. When the sun fell low, she watched them toddle back to their mothers, smelling of sunshine and smudged with juice.
Dusk settled heavily over the fields as Kore lingered in the quiet.
Fireflies careened, dancing through the air to a chorus of crickets. The night was warm, calm and deep, scented with wild clover and warm grass. But her thoughts moved restlessly as she lay in the grass, fingers trailing through the soft blades.
The memory still burned.
His hand closing around her wrist, firm yet commanding. The quiet power in the way he leaned close, the space between them charged and perilous.His scent—cypress, rain-fed earth, and something darkly masculine.
And his eyes. Russet, stern and watchful, so deep it had felt as though she was drowning in that dark gaze.
“Kore!”
Her head jerked up, the memory dissolving like ink in water.
“Come along.” Demeter stood at the temple’s entrance, bathed in torchlight. “The feast will begin soon. You should be helping with offerings.”
With a quiet breath, Kore rose, brushing grass from her chiton. Dutifully, she turned from the fields, returning to the temple with her mother.
Standing at the altar, she accepted jars of honey and loaves of braided bread, moving through the motions with practiced grace. Incense curled in the air, rising with the scent of myrrh and crushed wildflowers. Prayers wove around her like ribbons—soft, expectant, familiar.
Once the last offering had been reverently set upon the altar, Kore followed her mother out beneath the stars.
A banquet table awaited, gleaming with an abundance of sun-ripened fruit, roasted meats with herbs, and sugared cakes. Nymphs twirled and leapt before towering fires, movements wild and fluid, lyres carving feverish harmonies with flutes and drums. Laughter rose like flame, curling skyward to meet the stars.
The moon hung high and round, silvering everything it touched. The world blurred into a haze of firelight and the steady cadence of mortal voices offering praises to the harvest goddess.
At last, Demeter rose, granting a final benediction to the mortal women who bowed low as she stepped from the table.
“Come, Kore.”
Bathed in moonlight, they walked side by side through the fields of Eleusis. The earthy scents of tilled soil and sun-warmed grass lingered in the night air.
“You were honored by them today,” Demeter said, her voice touched with quiet pride.
“They came for you,” Kore countered softly, her eyes on the path ahead. “So many women seeking children.”
“Yes.” Demeter sighed, her gaze growing shadowed. “They pray for strong sons, beautiful daughters, and births without pain.” She grimaced. “But some things cannot be changed, no matter the offering.”
Kore glanced sidelong at her mother. “Is childbirth truly so painful?”
“It is the greatest pain a woman endures, the most meaningful.” Her tone turned sharp, colder. “Man’s role in creation is fleeting. Insignificant.” She exhaled, then cleared her throat as if to dispel the thought. “But you need not trouble yourself with such things.”
Kore was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: “I think I could bear great pain for a child’s sake.”
Demeter’s stride faltered, just for a moment.
“You are young,” she finally said, continuing on. “Innocent. You don’t yet understand. The pain of childbirth passes. But the pain inflicted by men, by gods...” Her voice caught. “That pain remains after everything.”
