Had seized her daughter Persephone, carried her away to his
damned kingdom.
Long since had she accepted her daughter's fate. Yet she
remained forever disconsolate. At times she wept. No smile
touched her lips. And in her mind a plan developed.
The wiles of women have oft changed the course of man's world.
Even the Olympians would feel that power.
Carefully she gave thought to devices that would serve, to
those who might champion her cause. Finally, in desperation, she
turned to that power of powers.
White-faced, in dread, she prayed to Moira to unravel the evil
that had been done.
Her humble cottage was quiet, still. The silence was such as
she had never known. Even her breath was unheard.
In the silence she received her answer. Not in words, nor in
thoughts, but in a strange vision.
She stood on a high peak, surrounded by rolling fog. In that
fog she heard her daughter calling, but she could not tell from
whence came the call.
She answered, yet knew her voice to be unheard.
Faintly, another voice sounded through the fog. The voice of a
young man. "My lady, you are in pain. Can I help you?"
The vision faded, and she was once more in her little hut. She
sat by her kitchen table, laid down her head, and cried.
There would be an end to the cursed imprisonment of her child!
There was yet a champion who would stand against the fiend from
Hades. In time the one who had wrought this grievous crime would
suffer!
In her mind she saw darkly a deep cold tarn, its face hidden by
fog and mist.
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