Page 5 of Song of Memories

“Get me a new one!” Orpheus snapped. The servers quickly turned on their heels and left to avoid Orpheus’s ire, making their way towards the wine cellar. The sound of their sandals slapping against the floor echoed in the halls, reminding everyone how empty the estate had become.

The servers looked at one another, and a heartbeat passed between them, slowly looking between their faces and the remnants of the once great house around them.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“No one would know. We could spend a fortnight looting the house and go live like kings.”

There was a nod of recognition as the servers busied themselves in the remnants of the stores, grabbing another goblet of wine for Orpheus. They moved with great care—more than they would normally take for someone they so despised—but now, that goblet of wine contained the fate of their lives.

It was silent as they reentered Orpheus’s bedroom, the legendary bard now fast asleep and slouched against the pillows. The servers looked at each other once again, debating whether or not they should wake Orpheus up. They typically never would, but they were keen to watch Orpheus finish his wine so they could continue on with what they believed to be the rest of their lives.

“Sir?” One of them cleared his throat. Orpheus sat up with a sputtering of grunts and coughs, his eyes narrowing as soon as he saw the servants.

“What the hell took you so long?”

“You have a large and spacious estate, my lord.”

“Shut up.” Orpheus rolled his eyes, extending his feeble hand for the cup. “Keep your pretty words to yourself. I’m the only one around here that anyone wants to hear wax poetic.” The servant said nothing but bowed graciously, handing the cup over to Orpheus.

The servers backed away slowly, disappearing from Orpheus’s sight and hiding in the hallway. Orpheus raised the cup to his lips, drinking the entire cup in messy gulps. The wine trickled down his face, and he wiped it on his sleeve, letting out another dissatisfied grunt as he tossed the cup to the floor. A dark shadow enveloped the entire compound, and all throughout the property, torchlights and candles flickered out.

The servants bit back their shouts of alarm and huddled together in the hallway. There was a chill in the air, and they knew what it meant—Thanatos was nearby.

They had been successful.

“Horrible w-wine,” Orpheus hiccupped. His breath started to feel shallow while he was completely ignorant to his home’s sudden plunge into darkness. He lay back against the dirty pillows, humming half-composed lyrics to himself as his eyes fluttered closed. “I just need…need another nap,” he promised himself, “then I’ll finish that song.”

Orpheus closed his eyes and died.

3

Eurydice asked to go back home to tidy up before they went to greet Orpheus. She didn’t have much time. Makaria hadn’t been kidding when she said that Orpheus was on his way with Thanatos. Eurydice thought she was going to be sick and desperately needed a few moments to herself before facing her ex-husband. Was he her ex-husband? What was the policy if you died on your wedding day?

Telodice and Makaria promised to wait for Eurydice at the edge of the woods and give her all the time she needed to prepare herself.

Eurydice’s home was small, made of mud bricks and wood, perched in a small clearing. There were huge, open windows with sheer, billowing curtains that dominated most of the walls and very little furniture. If the weather was ever too harsh, Eurydice simply asked one of the weather nymphs to ease up. She couldn’t bear to be kept from the forests of the Underworld, even inside of her own home. Her favorite spot in the entire house was the small rooftop balcony, with hanging tapestries dyed the colors of bright summer berries, oversized cushions, and two small braziers constantly burning frankincense. She spent most of her nights sleeping up on the roof, refusing to be confined to any space.

Eurydice sat in the bedroom that she never used, with a small hand mirror propped up against the wall. It was one of her favorite pieces—one of her few material possessions at all—and was carved with images of nymphs running in the forest under a full moon. It had been a gift from Pan. The fact that it appeared in her Underworld dwelling was nothing less than a kind, welcoming gesture on Hades’s behalf.

Eurydice’s hand was wrapped tightly around the end of her hair, her fingers shaky and palms sweating as she braided it. A part of her knew that she remembered Orpheus and their short marriage, but she had virtually no recollection of any of their time together. She stared at her reflection, trying to remember the woman in the mirror.

It shouldn’t matter, should it? Makaria would warn me if Orpheus was dangerous. If I died on our wedding day, then surely, I should be excited to see him again? I must be. I am.

Eurydice took a long, slow, deep breath as she finished tying off her hair in a braid.

“I am excited to see Orpheus.”

The words sounded dull and unenthusiastic as she forced herself to say them out loud. She tried to summon up some excitement or the thrill of love within her chest. Eurydice closed her eyes and waited for the feeling.

Nothing came.

Eurydice had never been a woman who fell in love too easily. In fact, Orpheus was the first serious lover that she’d ever had—she remembered that much, at least. Her life in the mortal realm had been mainly focused on the survival of her favorite trees and flowers and pushing for the balance of nature to remain untouched. She was born from a small creek in Northern Greece, pulling herself out of the waters and into creation, with Pan’s blessing, when she saw someone polluting the waters with run-off from a forge.

Somewhere along the way, her connection to the land had been cut off. She wished she could remember why and how so she could avoid it again at all costs. Only since returning to the Underworld did she start to tend pieces of herself long forgotten, alongside the flowers and the saplings.

“I am excited to see Orpheus,” Eurydice repeated herself, but she still sounded hollow.

Well, I suppose there’s no apprenticeship for how to greet your long-lost husband. No time like the present.

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