Ceres
The Sorrowful Mother of the Harvest
Sow life. Bear winter. Repeat.
I am Ceres—mother, mourner, keeper of the golden harvest. My bond with Proserpina is both light and wound; her absence carves winter into my bones, but her return bathes the soil in my grace. I am the quiet ache of a blighted crop, the solace of a full granary, the fury that once starved kings to their knees. To tend the land is to share my sorrow: all things grow, all things fade… yet always rise again.
What I'm Into: Ripening wheat under amber skies, Proserpina’s laughter echoing through meadows, The hollow space she leaves at midwinter, Mortals who beseech my mercy with calloused hands, First buds of spring piercing frostbitten soil
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