Page 8 of Song of Memories

“They’re so pretty, Eurydice,” Orpheus smiled, holding some of the petals up to the sunlight. Eurydice didn’t answer while she studied his face. Orpheus had a perfect smile. He had won her over with a single look.

“I’ve told you this before,” Eurydice rolled her eyes playfully, “I’m a nymph. Having flowers in your hair comes with the territory.”

“I know,” Orpheus groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder and pressing a line of kisses up her neck. “But I’ve never seen a woman who does that before. It’s so…exotic.”

“Lovely.” Eurydice deadpanned, closing her eyes and running her fingers through the grass. “You may be known for your lyrics, but compliments are not your strong suit.”

“Are they not?” Orpheus chuckled, still embracing Eurydice as he hooked his leg around her calf and pulled their bodies closer together.

“I can’t say I know many women who prefer to hear that they’re ‘exotic.’ What’s ‘exotic’ to you is completely normal to a nymph. You make me sound like a creature. An object.”

“Do women not want to hear that?” Orpheus repeated himself, and Eurydice fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“Delicious, maybe…” Eurydice started trailing her fingers up Orpheus’s arm. “I would take exquisite, divine, or your guiding star, if you’re looking for a compliment.” A soft breeze drifted through the clearing again, and Eurydice’s eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the scent of crocuses on the wind.

“That’s brilliant, Eurydice.” Orpheus smiled. He sat up quickly, dislodging Eurydice and abruptly rolling her onto her back.

“Oof,” Eurydice exhaled sharply as she hit the grass. She straightened up, her brows furrowing as she looked over at Orpheus. He had pulled a small scroll of papyrus and a reed pen from his kolpos, where he always hid them folded into his chiton. Eurydice tried to squash her frustration.

There was no moment between the two of them that was safe from Orpheus’s inspiration. He had been gifted an enchanted pen from Apollo, alongside his lyre, that never needed to be dipped in ink. It was a brilliant gift for someone who was blessed by the gods as a lyricist and musician. It was equally annoying for anyone who ever spent time with Orpheus since they could be interrupted at any time. Orpheus was not confined by the concept of needing to wait until he could sit down with ink to write.

“Did you need to write that down this instant?” Eurydice couldn’t help but let some venom drip in her tone.

“Hmm?” Orpheus barely looked at Eurydice. She watched as he wrote down all the words she had used, each adjective, and penned them into something resembling a rough stanza. Her frustration simmered, wondering if this was what it meant to be a muse—to be a victim of theft, reduced to a beautiful object, not competent enough to create thought on her own, but must rely on the artist to cultivate her abstract thoughts into motion.

“I asked if you needed to write that down at this very moment.” Eurydice sighed, watching as rose thorns began growing from her fingernails. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down, making the thorny appendages vanish.

“Oh!” Orpheus perked up. For a moment, Eurydice thought he was paying attention to what she said, but he was staring at her hands. “Can you do that again?” Orpheus stared at her, his gaze entirely focused.

Eurydice allowed herself to react, and the thorns burst forth again without hesitation while long vines and rose petals tangled themselves into her hair.

I wonder if he even sees me beneath the parts of myself that he considers wondrous—am I an actress to him? No, no, Eurydice chided herself and forced her thoughts back to the present. This is what it feels like to be loved, right? To be adored? He accepts me. The wildness that fuels my blood.

“It’s incredible.” Orpheus exhaled heavily, staring at Eurydice everywhere but her eyes, taking in the wonder that she was.

Part nature, part goddess, all woman.

There was a reason that nymphs had been at the center of stories for years. Their innate wildness was something that couldn’t be fathomed by most mortals. It was as close to divinity as a mortal man could come, which meant that mortal men did what they often did when they came upon a treasure that was priceless. They found a way to make it their own—their creation—or they scorned it when they couldn’t possess it.

“It happens when I am upset,” Eurydice murmured, allowing Orpheus to hold her hand and turn it every which way. She waited patiently, and he failed to acknowledge the connection between her mood and the vicious thorns.

“Hm?” Orpheus seemingly stopped evaluating Eurydice’s hands and picked his head up. “Who’s upset?”

Some of Eurydice’s carefully contained rage boiled over. Sharp thorns emerged up and down her arms, as sleek as a dangerous spine, and she exhaled heavily. Is it always this impossible to speak to men? She tried to think of all the positive traits that Orpheus possessed, which her fellow nymphs loved to remind her of. Orpheus’s face merged into one of shock and awe as he stared down at her arms, once again becoming entranced with the way that she reacted.

“Ah, this happens whenever you’re upset?” Orpheus blushed crimson, picking up his head and looking at Eurydice with a bashful expression. It finally seemed to get through his thick head that Eurydice was frustrated, and she could only shake her head at his apparently slow wit.

“It’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Eurydice grunted, snatching her hand back from Orpheus.

“Hey now,” Orpheus crooned, dropping his voice a little lower. He scooted closer to Eurydice, trailing his fingers gently up her arm, then across her shoulders, until he tilted her chin up so she was looking him in the eye. “I’m sorry, my love. I just can’t help it.”

“Sometimes it feels like you aren’t even listening to me, Orpheus.” Eurydice sighed, the thorns disappearing back into her skin at the placating tone in his voice. If there was any redeeming quality about Orpheus, it was that he always at least tried to apologize—and no one could grovel like a poet. It was practically what they were made for.

“How can I not get distracted by every little thing about you?” Orpheus murmured, leaning forward and pressing a series of soft kisses to Eurydice’s cheeks. “You always amaze me. I can’t even get through a sentence without being entranced by something new I learn about you.”

Eurydice’s heart picked up its pace and she flushed, trying and failing to hold onto some of the ire that he’d brought out in her earlier.

“It’s that… You… Oh.” Eurydice sighed as Orpheus started kissing down her neck. “It’s that you treat me…treat me like an object sometimes, Orpheus.”

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