Light
She can't remember how long it's been since she arrived here, how long since the light of the upper world faded behind her to be replaced by endless work, how long since the light in her eyes had begun to fade.
There were no mirrors in Hadestown, but she would sometimes catch a glimpse of her reflection in the machinery and be unable to distinguish herself from the workers around her.
She cannot remember leaves hitting her face, grass and flowers beneath her feet, even the bitter cold that drove her here. All she knows is to keep her head low, sheltered from the artificial lights that aren't lights at all.
And then—a voice in the darkness, footsteps breaking into a run.
When Orpheus calls for her, it's like the sun has come to Hadestown, bathing her in its warmth and light.
And Eurydice remembers.