Sea gulls swoop,
as Persephone steers the Ferry.
Minthe walks into the steering room…
"Persephone, the Nymphs are getting restless," Minthe says, "They are tired of dancing. They want to know: Where are we going? And when are we getting off this ship?" "It would be better if the Nymphs could just let go of that," Persephone says more flatly than usual. "Is that what you want me to tell them, to comfort them?" Minthe protests. Persephone shrugs, "I don't want you to comfort them. We are still Moons a-Way from the Flood. If they are going to have mental breakdowns, they should do it presently, so we can move through it, build endurance, and cultivate their individual expertise. Reboot their systems to the Now, and stop trying to See the future of an uncertain Weave." "But you have seen it. You made all those images for what is to come in 2022." "The images are the husk of True Faith. Meaning comes through living into them. They are touch-stones into the Dream that is Dreaming We." "So we aren't on this Ferry to be saved?" "Who exactly would be the Savior?" Persephone asks. "You?" Minthe propositions. Persephone sighs, "Just because everyone is alWays looking for me, does not mean I can save anyone from the Dark that surrounds us, currently. I brought the Nymphs Here, so they could stop their searching, and web us together in the Flood. Is that not enough?" "Pluto?" Minthe continues, as she wracks her brain for the next viable super-hero. "Minthe, you've really got to let him go." "Or what? You'll turn me into a plant?" Minthe questions as she crosses her arms. Persephone looks at Minthe, unblinking, for a long moment, "I changed you back. This is the state of things, Minthe. We save ourSelves, in this part of the Story. If you have not yet felt Doom, go lay down in your bunk, and breathe it in. You will be raw, but real when you feel complete in filtering it. And I will be Here, with hot cocoa, affirming, 'Yes, Life is uncertain.' We are aiming for inter-, not co-dependence." "But what if we cannot save ourSelves, Persephone?" "Then we have lived, and we will die, just like we alWays have been." "Here, give the Nymphs, these diaries," Persephone says, as she hands Minthe a rucksack from under the ship's wheel, "These will help them, put their Stories somewhere when their brains malfunction. They will want the wisdom of their own Tales, later on." "Why are they barcoded?" Minthe asks. Persephone smiles, for the first Time all morning, "Vesta wants the diaries in the Library, when the Nymphs are finished ."
“He knows the real doom
that rises with the Moon.
BEWARE: When you hear
the swooping, trouble looms…”-The Oracle of Passeridae