To lift her tear-stained eyes to gaze upon the face of Persephone, Bella must first traverse the infinite cosmic distance of her moon wolf t-shirt.

After all, Ceron is hers. They had always been hers; an army forged in love and lust, bestowed with every blessing their creator could think to give. The success of Doctor Ceron's legacy had always been that she had not built her children with any particular end in mind; she had not made them with controls or a built in society they would always correct back to. She had simply wanted hot wolf muscle mommies to exist and be happy. Though changeable, the moon is a closed and harmonious circle.

(Also worth noticing: underneath that shirt, Persephone is [i]ripped[/i].)

"It's alright," said Persephone. "It's okay."

Her fingernails are dark with dirt, her hands bruised and calloused - unlike the clean gloves of Demeter, her garden fights back. The succulent flower she wears behind her ear was won through the earth through struggle. Her face is thin and creased with many lines, faded golden curls mixed with silver beneath a straw sun hat, her skin tanned dark from sunlight and made strong by lifting children high. Her pockets jangle with jewels - glass and plastic and sequins, magpie-trash that shines all the brighter than vaulted gold.

"Come on, all of you. I have tea brewing. Earth doesn't get visitors very often, and I wouldn't want to offend my sister in law by being a bad host. And along the way, tell me some tales - I don't get out much these days."

*

The Sky Castle comes to a halt. Persephone climbs down the rope ladder, long and hard though it is. Hades stands at the top, frozen in yearning, unable to look away but seeming afraid that she will slip and fall and break her neck. At the bottom she has weather-beaten old grey ute with space enough to fit everyone (though Dyssia will have to sit in the tray at the back). It waits in the soft shade of an oak tree atop a radiant green hill.

As she climbs down, Artemis slowly turns to look at Dolce. "You... thought? You wondered, more than you should... what I [i]prefer[/i]?"

She raises a finger sharply to his lips. "Don't think. Don't wonder. Look. [i]Look[/i]. It's her lesson, but it's also mine. The brain is just an organ for cooling the blood. Don't listen to it, don't obey it - look. See. Watch. [i]Listen[/i]. It is hard. There are tigers in the grass and sheep are prey animals. They camouflage themselves with words and ideologies, they appeal to the brain, appeal to philosophy and language and tricks and justifications. Flags and banners and dynasties and nations and laws and founding myths and religion and race and constitutions and propaganda and money. It takes so many [i]words [/i]to justify their crimes, but they'll say those words all day, just like a tiger will wear his stripes all day."

"Compare it to an act of love," said Hera. "Those do not speak at all. They simply are, to the point where talking about them is impossible."

"You've seen it all now, dearie," said Hestia. "You've walked the length of the galaxy. You've seen the worlds above and below. Who was happy? Who prospered? Who suffered? Who made things that way? What emotions were upon their faces? What did you see?"

You have a hill to climb. You don't want to keep Persephone waiting.