“And now, dying a second time, she made no complaint against her husband; for what could she complain save that she was beloved?”
***
Reaching out, I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin; body alight, desperate to live again. I see my name forming on his lips.
“ Εὐρυ-”
***
It’s like the first conscious breath after the coma. It is been so long since my lungs have functioned normally, that I can almost feel the cobwebs in my throat, each inhale and exhale a battle. I’m not sure where I am. Or who I am. All I see is a hazy figure walking in front of me in a skeletal wasteland. Mountains and ridges rise up all around us, a gray river churning and bubbling to our right. The foliage that is existent is stripped bare of color, twisted and unnaturally angled, petrified trees towering above like titans. I look up and the pitch black sky extends from here to Elysium; a ring of gold boldly contrasting against the fire and brimstone from the Fields of Asphodel.
The person in front of me, this man, do I know him? His footprints in the dark earth are the remnants of someone once familiar. Something about his settles into my eyes, and the longer I stare at him, the more even my shallow breaths become. He tilts his head and the memory hits me like a lightning bolt from Ζεύς. I know who he is. And who I am. And where we both are.
The underworld would have been much more bearable if he had come with me in the first place, but the Fates are rarely that generous. A selfish thought, I know, but the ashen landscape would have been drenched in color if he had been here. Just staring at his form, I can feel my blood defrost. Although I was dead, our separation is what really killed me. I would rather have an eagle devour my liver with each sunrise than live without him. However, just because I missed him, it didn’t mean that I wanted him in Hades too. I love him far too much to wish such a cruel fortune. But here he is.
His back strong and taut, hair wild and long. He came for me. The sound of his lyre tears across the air, pulling me from my reverie, and my dead heart starts beating as every single noise in the underworld stops. The Furies cease their torturing, Cerberus is mute, and souls from Tartarus to the Isle of the Blest fall silent. His voice cuts through the groans of the dead like a phoenix in the dark. Playing a melody so entrancing that the ghosts part like the waters of the Aegean before him, he slightly turns and sings:
Daughter of Apollo
Paramour of mine
I will love you til the stars go out
Until the end of time
I remember when he wrote this for me. I do not pay attention to the scenery, tripping over ledges and roots. But for the first time I do notice myself. Exposed bone loosely wrapped in patches of my flesh, I glance at my chest to see the charcoal tint of my previously still heart. I can feel the blood pumping through every part of my body but, joints coming back to life, muscles working to remember their function, but when I open my mouth to reply, I cannot. There are ashes on my tongue, but I need to speak to him, he needs to hear me. I silently scream, my lungs expanding as my throat tries to birth the “O” of his name repeatedly, like a prayer. I reach out for him with a bony hand, but some force prevents me from making contact. I claw at my throat as if that will prompt my voice to work, gnashing at my tongue like some feral beast.
Precious nymph, you goddess
Darling cannot you see?
You are perfection incarnate
Ἀφροδίτη’ς clear envy
Immediately, my attention refocuses on him. “They said not to turn around, I am supposed to just keep walking. Περσεφόνη and ᾍδης… they said you would be right behind me, but I can only see you once this is over,” He says to me, and then softer, more worriedly, “I have to be patient, for just a bit longer…”
The darkness fades the higher we go and I can make out a small point of light in the distance. Oh gods, we are so close, keep going, do not worry love. The floor begins to level out as we continue. I feel something graze my shoulder. I turn and notice hair has sprung from my head, the cells of my body slowly knitting back together. I am not physically whole, my being still transparent. But I feel stronger; my mind clearer because of his closeness.
“I really want to believe that you’re there, but can you give me a sign? We both know the gods are not always kind. If you are not here I’ll… Can you hear me, love?”
I wish I could yell his name, wrap my arms around him, and kiss him endlessly, but I cannot. I am here, I am right behind you. I frantically reach down towards a stone to get his attention, but my fingers pass through into the steep path. I can barely see my veins anymore, my skin becoming more and more opaque with each step. It’s alright, don’t look back, just wait, I love you, I love you, I love you.
With each pluck of his lyre my heartstrings respond in kind. I recall his hands, calloused fingertips and soft palms, firm but gentle, blessed by Ἀπόλλων himself. The sweet music drowns out nearly all of my thoughts. We are getting closer to the light up ahead, and now I can tell that it is a doorway.
“Do you remember what happened to Προμηθεύς? Or Νάρκισσος? Or poor Ἰώ? No, the immortals are rarely this altruistic.” He barely glances over his shoulder before snapping his eyes back in front of him. I stumble, not noticing the uneven ground.
With his tone turning somber, the music shifts as well. It is darker, weightier. I feel it pressing upon my sternum like a boulder, and my chest cracks, feet suddenly heavy as stones. I am here love, just keep forward. We will be together soon. I see his body slump as he broods over the possibility of divine trickery.
And if you’re not returned, oh gods
I don’t know who I will be
I am breaking down, I am burning up
Without you, there’s no me
And if you’re not returned, oh gods
I will die by my own hand
By fire, knife, or twisted rope
I will join you if I can
“You are the one that died, but now that you are not with me it feels like I am dying too. I do not think I can do this. I miss you in my bones.”
I love you, I love you. I mouth the words over and over again, both plea and confession.
We are feet from the exit when he abruptly stops. For the first time, I realize that I notice the sound of my own steps as I halt behind him. My skin is glowing.
He tenses before facing me, mouth agape as our eyes lock. I exhale him, my voice audible, “Ὀρφεύς.”
***
The last thing I hear him say is my name. And never in life, or death, have I heard a sound more beautiful.