I keep thinking about the story of Persephone. Hades abducted her for the underworld, but so great was her mother's misery above that the gods to let her return for half the year. Whenever she is below, the Earth's surface goes barren, but with her return it ripens once again. Love and loneliness for a single figure causing all of the Earth's changing seasons. What alchemy her mere breath must have rendered! A sudden frost that can turn the tree blossoms into icy chandeliers.
Imagine spending half your life below ground and half above it. Persephone was allowed to leave the underworld every year, yet every year she had to return. She sees the first sign of light at the end of the tunnel, yet already knows its limits. The darkness will drag her down again. Maybe just one glance backwards. History is full of last looks, stories of people who couldn't help themselves, even when instructed not to turn around. It is so uniquely human to crave that finality. But for someone with such power as Persephone? The opening to the underworld is crystallized by her very breath.