Time past, the mighty Pluto had rode roughshod across the land. 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?"