Note from the authoress: Next I'm tackling the story of Orpheus, and his perspective will be a couple of chapters in length, before switching to ones from Hades, Persephone and Eurydice's view.
Sources for my retelling of this legend include Ovid's Metamorphoses Book Ten, and Gluck's opera Orpheus and Eurydice.
Thanks for reading and enjoy.
The sound of roaring flames accompanies the sorrowful music of voices and instruments performing a song of mourning, as my Eurydice's body is consumed by fire.
I want to mourn, to cry out at the cruel fate which has taken my bride from me on the day of our wedding.
But I cannot, though everything within me is longing for the release of tears, or the ineffable relief my music always bestows whenever I take up my lyre.
Instead I stand before this pyre built by friends and relatives who had come for our joining, silent and still as a figure carved from stone.
I cannot bring myself to look upon my Eurydice's corpse as flames rise to consume her.
Only a few short hours ago I held her close, pledging before the gods my love and desire to guard her until death claims her soul.
What distresses me most is that I didn't fulfill that promise, for when the ceremony had been completed and we all gathered to feast and dance, we chose to slip away from the guests and dance through the meadows surrounding my home.
I could not know that as we danced that my Eurydice would step upon a snake, which would instinctively lash out in defense.
My calls for aid soon brought the guests running, and though we did all we could in the end death could not be denied.
I don't want to recall her like this, so cold and lifeless dressed in her bridal clothes.
Instead I cling to the memories of our first meeting, where she danced through the summer meadows wild and free.
How I serenaded her with the most passionate music I could compose, pouring all of my admiration into every word and note. How she listened to my songs, and did not see Orpheus son of Apollo, but a man born of two worlds seeking to find the way ordained for him by the Moirae.
She was the first to ever look beyond my music, to hear it for what it was. Not just a demonstration of talent inherited from my father, or even an expression of the joy I took in life.
No she heard and understood the core of my music, knew that it gave utterance to every deep thought and emotion, to the unspoken longings which lay at the center of my soul.
Her voice joined me on that first day we met, offering me hope and the promise of a friend who would help me find my place in the mortal world.
It was for this I loved her most, more than her grace and beauty, or her sweet voice or tender words of reassurance.
She became more than a friend over the months of our courtship, she accepted me into her heart and life, and joyfully consented to become my bride.
Her parents were apprehensive at first, for they saw only Orpheus the king of minstrels, not a youth eager for the love and friendship of their daughter.
Eurydice told me once, that it had taken many gentle words of reassurance coupled with my efforts to show them that I would care for their child, before they gave their consent.
And now I stand here, empty and desolate, on the day which was to be the most joyous of my life.
The accusing gaze of my beloved's father and the hard anger in the eyes of her mother scorches me with an intensity which equals the flames consuming my bride.
I know they are expecting me to play a haunting tune, to pour out all my grief in the music which for all of my life has been my solace and strength.
But I cannot. For the music has been quenched by the death of my Eurydice. No longer can I compose even the simplest of songs to honor her; my voice and lyre are forever silenced by death's implacable decree.
Unless.
Something stirs within me, and it takes me a few moments to realize that for the first time since her death I am daring to hope.
I glance around me, at the crowd of friends and relatives of Eurydice, at the strangers who have come to pay their respects and mourn my loss.
All are sincere in their grief, united with me in my hour of need.
Calmly I ask them to leave me to mourn, and they withdraw with many comforting words and offers of help.
I sit by the pyre, wondering if I dare act on the idea that has just taken root.
No man has ever ventured into the realm of death, except at his appointed time, and no living mortal has ever journeyed to Hades' realm before and hoped to return.
But I am of two worlds, so perhaps there is a chance that I can walk the realm of the dead without fear.
With determination I pick up my lyre and offer silent thanks to whatever god has inspired this desperate quest.
For many days I travel, until I reach the entrance which it is said leads to the underworld.
Cautiously I approach the Taenarian gate, knowing that once I have passed through it there will be no going back.
I take up my lyre and begin to play, a song of loss and entreaty to the lord of the dead as I begin the steep descent.
It is said that the king of the dead is as cold as his realm. And yet I hope that my music will reach him, as it has reached so many others.
My last thought before I step out of the mortal realm is both prayer and entreaty.
Eurydice, wait for me. Be once again my source of inspiration, my strength and my song as I go willingly into death's embrace for your sake.
And thou Apollo my great father, bless my music as I venture into the realms of death, that I might reclaim my bride and live out with her the time ordained to me by the Moirae.