Kore is lying on the cool ground, the grass soft and lush beneath her. The air is clear and mild, a gentle wind blowing, and the people playing on the other side of the clearing will be happy for a while longer, happy and content that they can enjoy being outdoors, that there is warmth but not yet heat, that there are clouds in the sky instead of merely the searing sun.

She blinks into the pale morning sunlight. They can enjoy a few more minutes of winter, but then she must go, and stay away for a while. She sighs, not unhappily but a little weary. Never a place to stay.

Someone – by now she has forgotten who – once told her that they were envious of her two homes. Imagine that, two places to call your own, two where you belong. Being able to escape either one for a time must be nice, must be freeing, must be an adventure.

But it's not home if you never want to leave for either one, not when you spend the last few nights – no matter where – wondering what it would be like to have one place. That's what belonging is. Having a place. To have a place, to find your place, it's always a place. Not places. No one ever wants to find their places.

She cannot choose, she must not. Thank the heavens for small mercies because she could never. Could never decide between her two worlds that are a curse and a blessing, both of them.

Spending all your time counting down the days until you have to leave, get to leave, want to leave but don't, not really, not at all, clinging instead – it gets tiring. It ruins everything, takes the joy out of every lazy morning in bed, every hot summer day, every night spent dancing in a crowd.

She watches a girl pick a flower and wants to cry out in simultaneous warning and encouragement. It's the worst thing that can happen, she wants to shout, It's the best decision you'll ever make. Her head aches and she closes her eyes. Not long now. The last few moments before she goes always confuse her. Everything seems too intense.

People dread this day every year. The day when winter ends and heat takes over everything, when it becomes so hot they can barely move, when it feels like there is no air at all. Not right away, of course, they have a little longer. But from now on, everyone can tell it's starting, and it's unstoppable. She is unstoppable. Such a strange thought – she used not to consider herself powerful. She does not feel powerful even now, when everyone's afraid of her.

I just won't go, she'd laughed once. How's that sound, I just won't leave this time. He'd laughed with her, a rare sound that always made her head spin with happiness. She'd pulled him along the precipice above the river and he'd rolled his eyes, as if she couldn't see right through him – as if she wasn't the only one he'd allow to – and know that he liked running right along the edge just as much as she did.

She laughs and opens her eyes again. Her burst of euphoria fades quickly, though. Only ever such a short time to enjoy – anything, really. She feels the tears roll down her cheeks, doesn't bother with wiping them away. She'll be happy again soon anyway. Her emotions change too quickly in these final moments for her to keep up, much less try to control them. She's cried a lot in the past few days, she always does. Even now, when she hasn't really left, she is dreading the next winter, the next goodbye.

She sits up and crosses her legs. Nearly time. She's getting impatient. This waiting in-between is worse than anything. She thinks of the songs her friends will go on singing without her and her mother's tears and the sun. She thinks of the friends that are waiting for her right now, somewhere beneath the earth. She thinks of sweet kisses and sarcastic remarks and running along precipices and need and want, and the oddly soothing darkness that couldn't be made to disappear by lighting a thousand torches.

The best of both worlds, her father had said when they'd made the agreement, everyone but her getting a say. She would have had it differently. She doesn't know how. But. Anything but being ripped apart like that.

She presses a palm into the grass, flat on the ground. She can feel it, the changes in the eart. Now, she thinks.

The grass beneath her fingers turns brown, dies, and she feels her skin buzz. Soon this will happen everywhere. The people won't be laughing and running. If they have to go outside, it will be hard to take steps.

She tosses her hair and takes a breath, untangling her legs.

Winter's over. Persephone stands.

She has places to be.