Orpheus never made it. He actually got to the entrance of the Underworld, and then he just had to turn around. Apparently, Eurydice's pleas for him to turn around and look at her had gotten unbearable, and Orpheus, not realizing that she had to be out of the Underworld as well, even though I told him that she did, turned while she was just steps away from freedom. I knew I shouldn't have allowed it. It was completely against my better judgement, and now Persephone would blame me for what happened.
After Orpheus's failure to follow my very simple, very clear commands, both he and Eurydice chose to drink out of the Lethe, one of the five rivers that ran through the Underworld. The Lethe would remove a person's memory, leaving them ignorant and, presumably, blissful.
It was the coward's way out of pain. Orpheus, of course, had the idea to drink instead of having to live with his mistake forever, and Eurydice had followed suit. Nothing I said would dissuade him from his choice, and I could do nothing to stop them from partaking of the water.
I will admit that part of my irritation was because I now had to tell Persephone that her wish, the only thing that she asked me for that she truly wanted (beside her freedom), had not happened because Orpheus was too weak to resist a woman's begging for just a few more steps.
I summoned Persephone to my throne room, uneasy about how she would react to the news. She arrived looking nettled. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and her lips were pulled into a thin line.
"How dare you?" She hissed. "I'm not some servant or dog that can just be summoned at your will! If you want to talk to me, you'll just have to condescend to come see me yourself."
She turned on her heel, and tried to storm out of the room.
"Orpheus is dead," I called after her. That stopped her in her tracks.
Persephone whirled on me, her face as pale as death. "What?" She asked quietly.
"Orpheus failed to follow the terms of our agreement. He knew the consequences of his actions when he made that deal with me, and now he has paid for it." Persephone didn't respond. The look on her face made me feel as though I had to defend myself. "What sort of fool would take a risk like that? The dead can't come back, and bad things happen to those who try to interfere with fate. Everyone knows that."
"A man is dead because of you," Persephone said in trembling voice, "and separated from the woman he loved, and all you can talk about is how foolish he was to try? Why don't you look at your own actions for an example of someone who is truly foolish? You see a woman at a feast, decide that you love her, and instead of trying to win her the normal way, you-you kidnap her and marry her against her will!"
"Persephone, don't lay this at my door!" I said, losing my temper. "I only made that deal with Orpheus because you begged me to. I broke laws that are not meant to be broken, and who is going to pay for them? I'll tell you, it's not going to be me! He was playing an all or nothing game and he knew the rules. I told him everything, you heard it yourself. So don't. Blame. Me."
As I spoke, I had gotten closer to Persephone and now I was towering over her. My hands were gripping her shoulders tightly. I hadn't even noticed myself doing it.
Persephone's face said it all. It didn't matter what I said, or how many times I explained it to her, she would blame this tragedy on me, and I couldn't change her mind, especially not through physical force. So, I would have to try to see it from her side. I carefully let go of her and took a few steps away from her.
"Persephone," I said in a calmer voice, trying to sound reasonable, "I can understand where you are coming from."
"Really?" She sounded skeptical. "I suppose that you know the pain of the eternal separation from the thing you love most?"
"Actually, I do. But, this isn't about me. If there was any way that I could let Orpheus live a long and happy life with his wife, I would, but I don't decide who dies and who lives. I keep charge of their souls and do my best to make sure that they spend eternity in the way that suits them best." She wasn't buying it, so I gave up. All I could hope was that she wouldn't hate me more than she already did.
Persephone was silent for a drawn out moment, and I would have given anything to know what she was thinking. In the end, she just shook her head and said, "After what you did to me, I should have known better than to expect mercy from a selfish beast like you." With that, she left the room.