Like many before me, I've taken the bones of a myth and made it my own. The story Demeter tells in front of Zeus's throne, the story the bard overhears and spreads to mankind, is based on a Greek myth often called "The Rape of Persephone."

   Persephone, it says, was picking flowers in the Vale of Enna when a fragrant narcissus tempted her close. The moment she snapped the flower's stem, the earth split open. Hades appeared and carried her off, screaming and struggling. When Demeter learned her daughter was trapped in the underworld, she withdrew from gods and mankind, vowing that no crops would grow until she saw Persephone again. Famine devastated the earth. Finally, Zeus commanded Hermes to bring the girl home. But Hades had already fed her pomegranate seeds, binding her to his side forever. Each winter, when she lives below, the earth shivers and nothing grows. Each spring she returns to her mother, and the earth bursts into bloom.

   What would it look like, I wondered, if Persephone wasn't carried back and forth against her will but made her own choices?

   I used research for inspiration rather than historical exactitude, drawing details from across hundreds of years and miles and using them as jumping-off places. The real Thesmophoria referred to Persephone's abduction, but in the sixth chapter I have the festival preceding her departure from the vale. And while the Styx and Lethe come from Greek myth, the land I've placed them in is my own creation. The Greeks themselves were opportunists when it came to depicting the underworld in art and poetry. I've followed their lead in using whatever served my story.

   Myths are retold for thousands of years because they speak to something deep in our hearts. This is what the myth of Persephone said to mine.