She could feel the wind shivering its leaves, the moisture feeding its roots. It was beautiful and old, and she had no right.

Then again, she’d received no instruction, only been told she could leave on her own merits. That was permission enough. And yet...

Persephone closed her eyes again and concentrated. Not on the tree this time but on the spores living in its bark and around the base of its trunk.

Could she really do this? No. Yes. Hades had forced her hand. It was time for her punishment to be over.

For a long time, nothing seemed to be happening. The tree’s branches creaked in the wind. And then rust spots appeared on the leaves, rapidly spreading and turning fresh green growth dry and brittle. The leaves started falling like rain around her, creating a thick layer of black and diseased litter.

Under the dim night sky, she could see dark bumps emerging from the tree’s trunk, like tiny stepping stones for insects. The tree shuddered, and Persephone wept for it.

She did not break her connection with the willow. It seemed the least she could do for it, to witness its final hour. Its heartwood filled with decay, spreading rapidly from the trunk to its extremities. New fungus burst from its bark like scabs on a leper, consuming the tree from within.

It took a long time for the fungus to hollow out the tree entirely. She felt its last breath like a keening wail, long and drawn out, and she came to herself with a start, her face wet with tears.

She tugged at her bonds. The branches were now brittle, hollow from within, but they did not easily break. It took several attempts, straining until it felt like her wrists would break first, before she tore her first branch down from the tree.

The weight of it dragged at her hand. She wrapped her fingers around it, as best she could, her wrist still bound, and swung the branch against the trunk of the tree until it splintered and cracked. Once demolished, it was a simple thing to drag her cloth manacle over the broken ends of the branch until her hand was free.

She repeated this on her left side, now with her right hand to assist, and soon she was completely free. She slipped the last cloth band over her fingers and threw the hateful thing aside, dropping to her knees in complete exhaustion.

She landed in a thick pile of leaf litter that coated the ground. Persephone had never thought herself vicious, and she knew this death—destruction, whatever it was—would haunt her for a long time.

She did not know how long she stayed there, head bowed in mourning. When she looked up, it was to find dawn breaking, bathing the world in its pale gray light.