Page 4 of Song of Memories

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Orpheus shifted uncomfortably on the bed. The curtains were open, and a soft breeze drifted in. The sea was shining, and the smell of salt and citrus perfumed the air. The rooms that Orpheus occupied were massive. After a lifetime of adventures and fame, rivaled only by the gods, he could afford a lifestyle only matched by kings. By all means, he should be living out his final days in the upmost comfort, surrounded by loved ones. Instead, only contempt ran through Orpheus’s veins.

The estate where Orpheus now resided was on the coast, on the isle of Lesvos. It was a sprawling property, covered in olive and lemon groves, with numerous outbuildings and stables. The main house consisted of two levels and boasted one-hundred rooms, all centered around a courtyard with fine in-laid mosaics and multiple roasting pits. It was famed throughout the region for hosting elaborate parties that lasted days or weeks on end. There was one particular feast of Dionysus where the partying lasted for thirty days straight—and this was the kind of opulence and indulgence that Orpheus used to navigate his way through life.

Now, none of it mattered. Orpheus was dying. It was his time—he knew that. Besides, he could greet the gates of the underworld like an old friend.

How many people can say that? I've stood in Hades’s throne room. There is no fear of death for me. Only this insufferable waiting.

"Someone! Fetch me a cup of wine," Orpheus yelled out to the empty walls, feeling his temper grow with every passing second.

Once he knew his health was failing, Orpheus fired most of his house staff. He had been chasing adoration and inspiration all his life, dragged down by the death of Eurydice.

Orpheus had tried to reach the level of fame that he once had standing next to Eurydice, but by the gods, nothing worked. Everywhere he went, his legacy was always coupled with hers. It was always the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. It chafed Orpheus’s pride as nothing he did was good enough for him to stand on his own two feet.

He forced her from his memory and traveled with Jason. He wrote ballads that dominated all of Greece. He swam in riches of all kinds—money, treasures, travel, and women. There was nothing that was off limits to Orpheus, every day of his life. All of it left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he continued to chase the same high that he felt when he’d been standing next to Eurydice.

The gossip mongers had a field day with Orpheus’s reputation. For a man whose story began with what was argued to be one of the greatest love stories of all time, his tendency to sleep and drink his way through the world didn’t seem to line up. He championed himself and himself alone, living only in service to his own ego. Within a few years after Eurydice’s death, Orpheus had all but forgotten her name.

But every verse, every coin, every maiden he pulled into his bed, none of it drove Eurydice entirely from his thoughts. He attempted to chase it away as though he could drown his broken pride with drink and accolades… Nothing worked. Orpheus wasn’t above using her memory as a cheap ploy for sympathy, especially when cajoling other companions to his chambers.

Now, finally, as he yelled out into the halls of a half-abandoned estate, he knew his moment was coming. Death had finally come for Orpheus the way it had come for his wife, an entire lifetime ago.

Orpheus was dying, and for him, that meant he was ready to come alive again. How sweet would it be to feel Eurydice’s adoration at his feet? Her warm presence by his side? Her influence on his songs? Would her return to him ebb some of the melancholy and lost time in his heart?

The gilded hallways were covered in expensive tile and tapestries, more mementos from his long life. The last two remaining servants heard Orpheus's demands and came running with a goblet and a plate of food.

"Do you think he's going to be in a better mood?” one of them asked anxiously, nearly tripping over a set of gilded armor in the hallway.

“I doubt it,” his companion scoffed. “You know he only smiles when he’s drunk or flirting. He’s a nasty piece of work.”

“There’s no need for manners when you’re a living mythical hero.”

“A hero of what?” the server scoffed. Their voices lowered as they approached the entry to Orpheus’s room. “He failed to bring Eurydice back. Everyone seems to conveniently forget that. Including Orpheus. He failed. It’s not like he’s Hercules. Hercules passed all of his trials and became a god. Hell, he became Hermes’s consort.”

“True, but not many men can say they’ve seen Hades face to face.”

“Forget Hades!” the servant balanced his precarious tray of food, “It’s Persephone that I want to lay my eyes on.”

“We all will eventually.”

“Luckily, this bastard is going first,” the server grunted, plastering a fake smile on his face as he used his shoulder to open the door to Orpheus’s chambers. “My lord!” he called out jovially. “We’ve brought you food and drink.”

“I didn’t ask for food,” Orpheus wheezed, his voice sounding nothing like the melodious voice of legend. “I only wanted a fucking drink.” Orpheus pushed himself up on his elbows, reaching one frail arm out towards the servant.

“Of course.” The server bowed gently, handing the goblet over. “We wanted you to have everything that you require, my lord.”

“That looks like shit,” Orpheus grumbled, nodding his chin in the direction of the platter. The servers exchanged a quick glance, and one of them coughed awkwardly.

“It’s all that is left in the pantries, my lord.”

“What in the hell does that mean?” Orpheus snapped, sitting straight up in bed. “What do I have a cook for!?”

“You… Um, you fired the cook.”

“When did I fire the cook? I did no such thing!” Orpheus grunted, his eyes going wide with barely contained rage. He had spent his mortal life living in extreme privilege and had developed a dangerously short fuse. There had never been a shortage of people waiting to tend on someone as legendary as Orpheus—cursed by Apollo and having escaped Hades!—and it had long warped his mind.

The servants took a well-practiced step to the side and dodged as Orpheus let out another anguished cry and threw his cup against the wall. Dark wine dripped down the plaster and stained it, joining a plethora of similar stains.

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