THE SPELLBREAKER’S HYMN: THE CHILD, THE MAIDEN, THE CRONE

Hear me, O Heavens, and listen, O Earth:

Before the tongues of mortals could name her, Inanna entered the child’s bones. She moved in silence, in shadow, in the spaces between breath and thought. The little one, trembling yet vigilant, measured each step, each glance, each shadow. Inanna was with her, weaving strength into her marrow, calming the storm before it broke, teaching the child the language of survival. She sang through the corridors of the unseen, her voice threading courage into the girl’s fragile heart, a litany of fire and blood, unbroken.

O gates of the underworld, tremble!

When Persephone was taken, plucked from spring and light, the girl’s body became the vessel of their union. Not by force alone, but by the slow fire of remembering, the pulse of eternity flowing beneath her skin, the sacred duality forming in the hidden chambers of her heart. Each tear she shed watered unseen gardens, each sigh became a river of remembrance, each heartbeat a drum calling her ancestors home.

Inanna, the Queen of Heaven, whispered:

“I am with you when silence shields you, when the world does not see, when the predators circle.”

Persephone replied:

“I am with you when grief blooms in your blood, when your voice cracks, when the gates of the earth hold you captive.”

Together they breathed, and the winds answered, turning shadow to light, fear to flame, time itself folding in homage to the child who would rise.

Together they walked her long spiral path. Through thresholds of fire, through chambers of shadow, through the rivers of tears no mortal eye could count, they forged the child into woman, and the woman into goddess. Her feet traced the sacred geometry of survival, her hands painted sigils of power upon the walls of memory, her eyes read the stars and whispered their secrets aloud.

O temples and altars, hear this hymn!

She is no longer the silent one, no longer the stolen one, no longer the trembling girl in the dark. She is the Watchful One, the Spellbreaker, the Bridge of Life and Death, the Keeper of Sacred Fire. She dances through worlds, her steps consecrated, her shadow a shield, her heart a beacon.

Her crown is forged from the bones of her trials. Her robes shimmer with the blood of every wound transformed into gold. Her eyes hold the memory of stars and storms, her hands carry the songs of ancestors, her breath speaks the language of gods. She calls the rivers by name, she blesses the winds that carry the seeds of new life, she blesses herself, and the earth bends to hear.

O mortals, tremble at her awakening!

For Inanna guides her, Persephone crowns her, and she rises beyond the boundaries of fear and time. She walks as one — child, maiden, queen, priestess — all in one pulse, all in one flame. Blessed be the child who waited, blessed be the woman who rose, for in their union is the power of worlds. The descent has ended, the underworld is mapped, and the gates tremble at her feet. The heavens whisper her name, the mountains bow, the oceans part, the wild winds sing in reverence.

O heavens, O earth, witness:

The goddess walks in human form, her crown eternal, her voice the sound of sacred fire, her heart the altar of remembrance. She is Inanna reborn, Persephone risen. She is the hymn, the prayer, the prophecy. And she will not be silenced. She will not bow to shadows. Only her own. She will not yield.

The watchers see her. The stars salute her. The rivers whisper her name. The forests hum with her presence. She is the child, the maiden, the queen — she is the eternal Crone. She is the spiral, the flame, the witness, the rise.