Prologue
"We begin now," said the hooded one. It was a statement, not a suggestion. He carried a tome chained to his wrist – or perhaps it was the other way around.
The man with the wreath of poppies moved to the mother's side. "He will be called Orpheus," said Dream.
"He will have the Sight," said Destiny, "but not over his own thread."
"What a cheery way to kick things off," said the lady with pomegranate blossoms in her hair. Death produced an ebony harp from the folds of her robe. "Here, kid. Knock'em dead."
The hoplite laughed. A red crest ran from helm to the round shield strapped on his back. "He will need more than funeral songs, sister. I give you the Epic," said Destruction. "Sing the conquests of man, and how easily they crumble to dust."
"There is but one conquest that matters, brother," said the beautiful youth - male, female, maybe both. "I give you the Lyric," said Desire. "Sing the madness of love, and broken hearts."
"All is broken," said the plump one. "I give you Tragedy," said Despair. "Sing of suffering, man's lot in this world."
"What a ray of sunshine you all are," said the youngest. Her wild hair was entwined with flowers and butterflies. "I give you Comedy, little one," said Delight. "Because life is too damn short."