persephone's abduction part I: a dark erotic tale

what if the story you thought you always knew was false? this is not a tale merely of abduction, but of awakening and choosing...

*this story is intended for mature readers and explores themes of childhood sexual abuse and elements of BDSM and conscious kink. all characters depicted are consenting adults.

---

now we descend together into the retelling of persephone’s abduction… so often misunderstood… this is a slower burn than my last tale, but good things come to those who wait…

first, before we begin, take a moment and breathe.

my stories aren’t just erotica—they’re alchemical spells.

they will change you, if you let them.

imagine the spiral staircase of your mind. feel the rough stone steps beneath your feet, cushioned with moss, as you descend deeper and deeper into the dark.

enter the obsidian temple in the underworld of your own psyche.

kneel inside yourself. inhale the sacred smoke.

read this unfolding from that place inside your being, and allow it to take you on a journey that might reveal something that’s been waiting to be seen…

---

The sun is lowering in the sky, its golden light dripping down through the forest trees like liquid honey as I kneel on the mossy ground beside a deep pool fed by a fall of water, cool and singing.

I feel restless and overheated, as if there’s a storm coiling inside me, just waiting to break.

I let my fingers drift through the hundreds of violets in my basket on the ground before me, their silken petals so fragile beneath my touch. I fight the urge to plunge my hand into the fragrant mound and crush them in my fist—just so I’ll have an excuse to linger longer, to gather more.

But my hand stills. The weight in my stomach tells me what I haven’t yet admitted to myself…

He isn’t coming today.

And Mother will be expecting me soon for the evening meal.

A fluttering rises in my chest, sharp and wild at the thought—like a panicked bird trapped in the cage of my ribs, wings slamming against the bars.

Desperate to escape. Helpless to get free.

And I know that bird is my own spirit; wings clipped not by cruelty but by overcare—suffocated by the weight of Mother’s love—far beyond the age when I should have been constrained in such a way.

Yet this is the only freedom that’s allowed me—to wander Mother’s woods, gathering herbs and flowers for her potions—so long as I never stray past their confines.

She says she’s protecting me, but I think the real truth is that she’s ashamed of me.

Persephone.

Kore.

Eternal flower maiden.

The daughter she hides away from the other gods in her sacred grove, a bud preserved in amber, never allowed to bloom.

Forever pure.

A bubble of laughter rises in my chest at the thought, and I bite it away.

My purity was polluted long before I was old enough to understand the festering rot that was being placed inside me by her own favoured priest.

We’ve never once spoken of what she saw that day or of what she did to conceal it. Sometimes, I wonder if she believes silence makes it untrue. That if it's never spoken, it never happened.

But I remember. I remember everything.

And I remember the look in her eyes. The way her face closed like a door, shutting it out and shutting me in…

I bite down on my lip hard, and I feel my knees starting to ache as I kneel there on the hard earth. I shift slightly, wincing, but I don’t stand. I don’t want to.

The ache anchors me.

He taught me that. In dreams so vivid, they almost feel real.

Sometimes I wonder if they are.

Gripping onto reality, I make my eyes focus on my surroundings, forcing my thoughts away from the past to remain here in the present. I watch the cascading water, the way the late afternoon light slants through the trees, casting rainbows and glimmering on the surface. I focus on the way I feel concealed and protected in this small, hidden valley.

This place is my sanctuary, the only place I’m free from Mother—my secret hollow past the boundary stone.

After years of daily explorations, I thought I knew every bend and twist of Mother’s woods by heart. Until one day, three moons ago, I stumbled upon this place by chance—through a narrow passage in a craggy wall of stone.

So easily overlooked... it must've been a trick of the light that caught my eye that day, drawing me forward as if I were in a trance.

I didn’t even realize I’d crossed beyond the boundary stone until it was too late.

The air shifted, and I knew.

I froze, heart pounding, expecting Mother to appear before me in a fury—terrified she would take even this freedom from me and lock me away for good.

I don’t know how long I stood there, limbs locked and barely breathing.

But she never came.

Common sense told me to turn back before it was too late, but instead, I pushed forward through the rocky fissure, until I finally came out on the other side and stepped into this.

The most beautiful place I’d ever seen. All my own.

I made the most of my stolen freedom that day, certain it would be my last. Sitting on the edge of the pool, my feet in the water. Thinking if I were braver, I would strip off my dress and swim to the waterfall—the way I would have as a child, naked and free… before… but something stopped me; something always does.

I returned home on time for the evening meal like I do every night, tight and heavy with dread, certain Mother would say something then…

But she never did.

From that moment on I never once questioned it, but began coming here every day, flirting with fear of discovery. And every evening that she didn’t say anything was its own victory. My secret rebellion… and the dawning realization that maybe Mother wasn’t as omniscient as she’d like me to believe.

Then, after the turning of one moon, everything shifted once more—when he appeared for the first time.

It was just there—by the edge of the pool, where the moss grows thick and soft beneath the trees. I’d been reading, feet once again dangling in the water, the hem of my dress darkened with splash marks. I don’t even remember the book now, only that the words had lost all meaning the moment I felt the air shift.

The hush of the forest holding its breath.

And then him.

Standing where the light fractures between two trees. Watching me.

Just the thought of him makes something pulse and clench low in my belly, longing sharp and fierce, twisting viciously inside me.

I don’t know why I didn’t scream, didn’t run when he materialised out of the trees the first time… only that he looked hauntingly familiar, as if I’d already seen him in a dream.

I felt the darkness in him, the danger… and I somehow knew he’d understand the parts of myself that I was most ashamed of. The parts of myself I’d spent most of my life trying to shove in a box to please Mother, to play the role she demanded of me.

And beneath his strength, I sensed his own jagged shards, his own fractures… like one of the wounded creatures that I sometimes found in Mother’s woods, the ones I brought home and did my best to nurse back to health.

All I wanted to do was pour myself into him. From the moment I first saw him, I only wanted to be close to him. He’s become my obsession, haunting my every waking hour and my dreams.

It frightens me… the thoughts and feelings he brings out in me. And it shames me to know it’s only giving form to what was already there… buried in the shallowest of graves in my being.

But all we’ve ever done is talk.

Books. Philosophy. The gods. Power. What people pretend not to want. Sometimes, he brings me books to read, always careful that our hands don’t brush when he passes them to me, as if it would break some unspoken barrier.

Sometimes, I think I dreamed him into being, that the forest conjured him as a mirror—something dark and patient and inhuman enough to hold me without fear.

I’ve never asked him what he is. And he’s never told me. We dance around it like it doesn’t matter—like the question would only ruin something delicate and sacred between us.

But I wonder.

Some days, I think he must be a lesser god—one the old myths forgot. A shadow deity with no temples, only woods and silence. Other times, I wonder if he’s mortal—just a man, but one favoured by the gods. Marked by something dark and powerful, something not entirely his.

I’ve tried to convince myself it doesn’t matter. But it does. Because whatever he is, he’s dangerous. More dangerous than he lets on.

He thinks he's hiding it from me, but I can feel it.

I feel it in the way the trees go still when he enters the hollow. In the way animals fall silent. In the way the very air darkens around him, like it knows.

There is something in him that doesn’t belong to this world.

And gods help me—I’m drawn to it. Like a moth to flame. Like prey to teeth. I should run. I should tell Mother and beg her forgiveness.

But I just keep coming back.

Because when he looks at me for the first time in my whole, I feel seen… like the fracture inside me isn’t something to be ashamed of.

I shift my weight again, and this time I notice the fabric of my dress caressing the sensitive flesh of my thighs. My skin is warm where the sun kisses it, cooler where the breeze slips between the trees and brushes up my legs.

Pleasure begins to mix with the pain.

I press my hand into the moss behind me for support, the damp earth yielding slightly. It makes me think of other kinds of yielding.

My thighs press closer together with a neediness that shames me as I feel the growing slickness between my legs.

He’s never touched me in waking life. But in the dreams, he does. Sometimes I wonder if he sends them. The dreams.

In the dreams, I kneel too. Just like this. His phantom touch on my body, like breath without wind, like hands that never land but still hold me fast. His voice unfurls inside my mind, dark velvet threading through my thoughts, coaxing secrets from the hollows of my soul, until I’m trembling.

Except it isn’t fear that makes me shiver. It’s the way he speaks to me.

Like I’m already his.

It’s why I choose to pick violets today—the way it forced me to kneel as I gathered their delicate wildness.

On my knees.

For him.

Longing twists low in my belly and a whimper escapes before I can bite it back.

I can still feel the way I woke—cheeks flushed, heart pounding, whispering his name into the dark like a secret prayer.

Thalos.

My mother would weep if she knew the dark thoughts that filled her daughter's head.

I wonder if I was ever truly innocent, the way my mother insists on seeing me—or if I was always like this, even as a child.

If the priest saw it in me—that hunger—and that’s why he did what he did.

I shift again, the ache in my knees sharper now. I welcome it. Let it throb like a tether to something real. Because I’m not sure I belong to the waking world anymore.

Not when my body still hums with the echo of his voice. Not when my skin remembers his gaze like a bruise that never fades. Not when the silken flesh between my thighs aches with a longing I can’t name without shame.

But something inside me is breaking now.

Something old and soft and obedient is tearing at its seams, clawing at the walls.

It wants out. It wants more.

My gaze drops again to the violets in my basket.

So delicate. So perfect. Wild and free.

Like me, once. Or never.

The sight of them curdles something inside me. They mock me. How dare they be so untouched when I’m burning from the inside out?

With a sudden cry—half sob, half fury—I snatch the basket and hurl it into the pool. It lands with a splash, violets tumbling loose like spilled secrets.

Petals scatter across the surface, floating out of reach. My basket drifts behind them, half-sunk, like an offering I didn’t mean to give.

I stare after it, chest heaving. Still kneeling there trembling for a man who’s not coming, heat rising beneath my skin like wildfire under my flesh, and I can’t bear it anymore.

And then I feel it—tight and suffocating. My dress.

Mother’s choice, of course. Demure neckline. Long sleeves. Laces drawn so tight it feels like I can’t breathe.

I claw at them, fingers frantic. Unfasten the knots. Strip away the fabric. Let it fall to the mossy ground, like a skin I was never meant to wear.

Beneath it, my white shift clings to me—thin, damp with sweat and spring air, almost sheer in the honeyed light.

I don’t care.

Let the woods see me.

Let him see me.

The thought lands like a spark in dry grass.

What if Thalos were to see me like this? What if he’s watching? What if he always has been?

I should be ashamed.

But I’m past caring. Past the mockery of purity. Past pretending I don’t want to be seen.

Let him see what he’s done to me. Let him see the mess he’s made. Let him see what I truly am. Maybe then he’ll break. Maybe then he’ll come for me.

My shift clings to my body as I step to the edge of the pool, the cool mist kissing my flushed skin. I breathe in the scent of violets and moss, of old stones and hidden things.

I stand on the edge, and I dive.

The cold steals my breath. The water closes over me like a spell. The petals ripple in my wake.

And beneath the surface—cool, dark, infinite—something in me breaks.

Finally.

And in its place, something else stirs.

Something dangerous. Something with teeth.

I breach the surface of the water, violets clinging to my dark hair, and I can feel the shift immediately—the thickening in the air.

My skin prickles…

And our eyes meet.

Thalos, standing there, shadows clinging to him like jealous lovers…

---

turn the page for part II here…

---

i’m so grateful for your presence and attention. please don’t forget to subscribe so you don’t miss the next installment of persephone’s abduction. everything i share here is born of years spent reclaiming my own pleasure and power—through grief, shame, devotion, and desire. each story is the fruit of a decade of embodied study in tantra, bdsm, feminine embodiment, and sacred sexuality. when you subscribe, you’re not just supporting my work—you’re casting a spell for your own becoming.

and if this first part of persephone’s retelling stirred or unlocked something in you, i’d love to hear about it in the comments below…

finally, don’t keep it to yourself… part I of persephone’s abduction is free for all to enjoy, so please consider sharing this with someone brave enough to enter the underworld with you…

xx persephone

p.s. are you a persephone woman? read the goddess’s invocation here…

p.p.s. in case you’re hungry to read more while you wait, the door to daddy’s study opens below…