They’d told her she’d be miserable, down in the Earth, in the Dark. They’d told her he’d be cruel, he’d be violent, he’d be cold. They say he tricked her. They said lots of things, all those Others, those well-meaning people, looking at her with pity in their eyes when the time comes to return. Return to the Dark, return to him. 

They forget that Spring is never scared of Winter, that seeds lie comfortably cradled in the dark, cold ground, waiting patiently to burst into life. She could tell them all of this, laugh in their doubting faces, their narrow minds that only see Death when they look at him, if they look at him at all. Too many spend all their lives trying hard not to, try to pretend he doesn’t exist, is not waiting for them at the end.

She pities them, those tiny people with their tiny souls, pities them and gladly returns. To the Dark, to him, to rest in his embrace until it’s time to go forth again into the world. She never forgets to bring pomegranate for them to share.