Hell freezes over that year: everyone gets out of the way as Hades moves from one factory to the next like an ice storm, and no matter how much coal is burned it never gets above freezing.

Finally, in January, the elevator groans into life and ferns of frost bloom around Persephone’s feet as she runs to take her husband’s face in her hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she tells him in between kissing the tears she’s certain he’d deny, “The seasons kept me trapped up there and I couldn’t make the autumn arrive no matter how I tried.”