A/N: Just a Persephone-centric ficlet. Hope you enjoy!

The Rose and the Thorn

Kore is pretty.

She is Spring; she is Summer. She is Love and Kindness; she is Peace and Joy. She is the gentle breeze, she is the rustling of the leaves. She is the quiet giggle, she is the loud laugh of a child. She is long golden tresses, curls that bounce with every skip and jump. She is her mother's daughter. She is white and pink, and young all over. She is the game that children play, the playful teasing, the ignorance of innocence. She is bliss, and happiness, and peace, and a beautiful flower that blooms brightly in the garden.

She is dawn, she is midday, she is the sun that shines.

She is the rose without a thorn.

She is a princess; she rules with soft child fingers that touch carefully, but curiously. Her kisses are sweet and kind. She is a too-wide smile, and laughter in the wind. She is large eyes framed by blushing cheeks and pink lips. She is innocence and childhood and baby who is unborn.

She is small fingers and toes, she is the miracle of life. She is legacies and dynasties, she is the future. She is the smell of a warm kitchen, full of food; she is the fire in the hearth of a cottage. She is berries and fruit, sweet and tangy.

She is daughter, friend, child. She is carefree. She is the valley in the mountains; she is the stream that trickles. She is also the sky, bright and wide and endless and full of possibilities. She is free. She is the absence of the court, the lack of intrigues, the voice of reason and simplicity. She is order and natural. She is perfection. She captures hearts.

Kore is pretty.

Persephone is beautiful.

She is Winter; she is Death and Destruction; she is Hate and Jealousy. She is the frozen water, she is the ice that glitters like gold. She is the snarl of a tigress, the feral grin of a lioness. She is dark hair that fingers clutch. She is black and red, and dead all over. She is her husband's wife.

She is dusk, she is midnight, she is the moon that glimmers.

She is the thorn on the rose.

She is a queen; she rules with an iron fist, her caresses sharp and cold and deadly. Her kisses burn. She is the sly curve of the lips, and the moan in ecstasy. She is dark eyes framed by pale cheeks and red lips. She is desire and lust and the woman who is dead.

She is the darkness of the night without the stars; she old leather books full of secrets of the past.

She is wife, mother, lover. She is a whisper in the night, she is the sigh that caresses the skin. She is the sharp stab of nails, she is the lithe, slender body of a queen.

She is silence. She is chaos. She is perfection.

She breaks hearts.

Persephone is beautiful.