for love @tchellandback - Tumblr Blog

un-lostscngbird·:

Part of Eurydice didn’t want him to make such promises. She knew the world was unpredictable and that being in his arms forever wasn’t guaranteed. But she wanted to believe it. She knew that the Fates would have a hard time tearing them apart again if they tried, that she would never stop fighting for their love. And nor would he. That, she could trust.

She let out a small, strangled laugh when he said he didn’t make it easy for her to find him. Oh, she remembered that now too. How empty the house had felt when she returned, though only a few days had passed. How she tried to find him, always arriving in time to hear people speak of his terribly beautiful but mournful song, but too late to find him. She searched far longer than they’d been married. Searched until she thought him dead. Memories so painful she knew why they had faded from her mind; it was the only way to survive alone. “We can,” she agreed. “We can have our life again.”

Eurydice’s strangled laugh goes straight to his heart, and Orpheus wants to apologize again -- for making her search for so long, for not waiting for her, or searching for her, or even knowing she was still out there looking for him. For letting her suffer for so long, even if it was not in the same way that he had thought he had all these years. He knows, though, that she will not accept it if he does, because she does not believe he has anything to be sorry for. Now, he only has to learn how to believe it too.

He runs a hand down her face, gently stroking her cheek. Our life. What beautiful words, made even more beautiful to hear them in her voice again. “A better one, even,” he says, though really, as long as they are together, life is already perfect. So much has changed in three thousand years, but that is one thing that never will. And he will do everything he can to make sure it never has to again. They both will. “And we can make it together. Eurydice -- where do we begin?”

#ignore that rock lol #the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

un-lostscngbird·:

***

Once she can see the relief finally sinking into Orpheus, once she can see he truly believes what she’s said, she too can feel that relief. When he pulls back, she can’t help smiling when she sees the happiness in expression. She wants to commit every detail to memory–how could she have ever forgotten it? Eurydice keeps to herself that she’s not so sure about the universe’s kindness, instead pressing a light kiss to his lips as he laughs. Two more things she never wanted to forget again. “We have forever,” she says, realising exactly how true that now was with a small laugh of her own. “And I will love you for forever and a day.” As she says the words, they feel familiar. Like she’s said them to him before, so long ago.

Eurydice tries not to let it show on her face, that twinge of guilt she feels. But it almost certainly does, if even for the briefest of moments. She leans against him, her head on his chest. “I should’ve kept looking,” she murmurs quietly. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Forever,” he murmurs after her, marveling at the truth in it. For all the love they shared, time is the one thing they have never had -- and now they have an eternity. “Oh, my love.” He gives her a soft kiss in return. “I’m going to hold you forever. And I will love you even when the world stops turning.” He remembers her saying those words to him so many years ago, and for a moment, he is back then, when they thought they knew what their future together held, before they knew what it was like to lose each other.

He leans his head against hers, holding her tighter. “You thought I was dead. There was no reason to believe I wasn’t -- and I didn’t exactly make myself easy for you to find,” he adds. After he left the Underworld, he couldn’t return to their home, couldn’t bear to face the life they had only just started -- but he had not even returned to civilization for a very long time either. In the years between her death and his own, he had remained alone, wandering and singing. “Three thousand years is such a long time. Memories blur, and fade, and get lost -- but now we can find them again. We can make new ones.”

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

anyaromanoff·:

– “You might be correct in that. Though the poetry tends to come from more of the sad memories than anything. That must be how it usually goes though, right?” All the poetry she had written were about her family, majority about her brother. “I’ve found that time seems to run too quickly whenever I want it to slow down. Some moments seem to just pass regardless of how quickly or how slowly I want them to. It feels as if I’m on pause and life is just continuing” The words came out as if she was writing them down in her notebook that she almost forgot that she was talking to someone else. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I just said all that,” she said, looking away.

“For me, I prefer to write about the happy memories, the ones I want to remember. Love and joy have always been a more powerful muse in my life than pain.” He writes anyway, and sings, because it is who he is, even when his happiest memories bring him pain, but inspiration is always stronger on good days than bad. The poetry he writes of love is always better than the poetry he writes of grief. At her apology, he shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize. I know what you mean. I have often felt the same.” Still does, truthfully. He has long since learned how to continue to live in a world that does not include Eurydice, but that does not mean he ever quite managed to feel as much like he was a part of it as he did before he lost her. “Life doesn’t stop, even when it feels like it should. You simply have to hold onto those moments while you are in them, and eventually, you will find a way to continue with the world when those moments end.”

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & anastasia #anyaromanoff

un-lostscngbird·:

***

Eurydice had known he couldn’t feel her there, could not hear her, so she had not expected it to hurt so much when he said as much. And yet, somehow it does, cold pain hitting her chest. She’d been so helpless then, unable to do anything to aid Orpheus in his task. To hear from him how alone he’d felt only brought all that rushing back, and Eurydice can do nothing but wrap her arms around him a little tighter. Somehow assure both of them that she’s here and he can feel her now. “I’m here,” she murmured.

In her mind, Orpheus had done what he was instructed. He waited until he was in sunlight, until he reached the end. Eurydice was mere steps behind him… But even if they had been only half-way, how could she blame him? How could she not forgive him instantly? When she loved him as she did, and his love for her was clear in every action he took. He had blamed himself for failing her for thousands of years, but Eurydice had forgiven him in that second she’d had to see his face. As he sobbed against her, she held him as tight as she could, her head against his, her fingers curled into his shirt. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to tell you,” she said.

Orpheus had not even realized how badly he needed to hear her say that she forgives him until she did, and the relief is so overwhelming that he can hardly catch his breath. He had been so afraid that she would hate him, if he ever saw her again at all. The more rational part of him recognized that that could not happen -- if the roles were reversed, if he had been the one who died and she had made that awful walk for him, of course he would never blame her for turning around; why, then, would she, when he knew that she loved him every bit as much as he loved her? -- but he could not forgive himself, and he could not believe he deserved to be forgiven when she was in the Underworld.

But now, with her arms around him and his around her, breathing in her familiar scent, her voice in his ear, he can at least try to start. “I know,” he gasps. “I know you are.” He takes in a few ragged breaths, calmer now, and without letting go of her, pulls back enough to see her again. “And what a miracle it is. What an absolute, unimaginable kindness the universe has done us.” He laughs again, still a bit tearful, but so happy. “Eurydice, we have so much time.”

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

un-lostscngbird·:

***

“No,” Eurydice insisted. If he argued with her it would hurt less, but this resigned certainty was far harder to face. It was unlike him, or unlike the him she’d known, and maybe that was what made it feel so painful to hear. He can’t see what she saw. “Orpheus, I don’t– It wasn’t your fault. Any of it.”

All he had to do was walk. Strictly speaking, it was true, but Eurydice could recall now that walk. Why she was so fearful of the dark and small spaces. “I remember,” she said softly. “I remember you walking for so long. How endless it felt. How the cold made you shake.” Or had it been the fear? The doubts? “I tried… I tried to tell you I was there. But I couldn’t. My voice–” It had echoed back at her until she could feel it physically pressing upon her, taunting her, but silent to his ears. She had tried to sing to him, and nothing came. Tried to comfort him when he faltered, but she couldn’t. “You waited until you were in sunlight.” She had been so close. Two, maybe three, steps. “If I’d been a bit quicker…” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t blame you. Even then, I couldn’t.” Even as the pain of death had pulled her back into the darkness. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

It had not been the cold. Or rather, it had been, but it was a different cold; it was a cold that had sunk deep underneath his skin the second he found her body and realized she was not breathing. He had not known she had tried to talk to him during that walk, though he is not really surprised to hear her say it. He cannot imagine what that must have been like for her, to try to speak and not be able to be heard, and he holds her tighter for a moment now. “I didn’t know -- it was so silent. I couldn’t -- I couldn’t feel you at all.” If he closed his eyes right now and moved to the other side of the couch, he would still know she was here. The air feels different when she is near him, but down there, it had felt as still and silent as if he were completely alone.

When she suggests that she should have been quicker, his heart cracks. “Eurydice -- no, you did nothing wrong. I should have waited for you.” When she tells him it is not his fault, even Eurydice cannot quite make him hear it, because he has three thousand years of self-loathing telling him that it is. He knows that it was his own mistake that ruined everything. But when she tells him she does not blame him, that she forgives him -- his admittedly shaky hold on his composure breaks, his head falling forward, and he finds himself sobbing into her shoulder for the second time that day. “I love you so much,” he says, which is not enough, but he is feeling so many very strong emotions in this moment, and at the center of all of them is simply that he loves her.

#death tw #the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

un-lostscngbird·:

Eurydice’s heart ached with guilt at that. Orpheus’s hope was never ending, she had always known that. But still, she had forgotten and he had not. He had hoped all this time, and she had been resigned that until she was allowed to die she would be alone. Her strength did not lie in her hope or trusting, unless it was him. And he had been gone. She dropped her eyes, resting her head against his again and leaning into him. “With all your heart,” she repeated, a small smile on her face. There was always so much love in his heart. Enough to make her hope again.

It wasn’t until she heard him apologise however that she looked up again. “Orpheus… No.” She shook her head quickly. “No. It wasn’t your fault. Any of it.” Drawing a shaky breath, she smiled at him. “You came for me. No mortal is ever supposed to go to the Underworld alive. No one but the gods. But you did.”

“Of course it was.” There is no argument in his voice, only a resigned surety. He wants so badly to be able to believe her, but he cannot see any way for it not to be his fault. He broke the one condition that decided whether Eurydice would live or die. His actions condemned her to the Underworld. He was not even there when she died in the first place. He sees nothing exceptional in the fact that he made the journey -- the lengths a person will go to for the one they love is exceptional, yes, but who else would not do the same? And at the moment when it mattered most, he faltered. He does not deserve to be absolved of that.

“It wasn’t enough. All I had to do was walk, without looking at you, and even with your life at stake, I -- I couldn’t do it. I failed you.” His voice shakes, but he tries very hard to keep himself together. “If I had not turned around --” She would have lived, is what he would have said before, except now she is sitting right here with him, very much alive, just as she has been for thousands of years. He did not even look for her. Even though there was no way for him to have known, he cannot help but feel that somehow, he should have. He shakes his head. “So many centuries I took from us -- I should have been able to do it, and I just -- I’m so sorry.” What else is there for him to say?

#death tw #the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

un-lostscngbird·:

Eurydice held his hand tight, lest one of them disappear before the other’s eyes. But no, that wouldn’t happen again. Couldn’t happen. Eurydice had died so many ways, but Thanatos would not take her. Hades would not let her in. Neither seemed to know why it was to be that way, but it was how it was. She could not stay dead. And Orpheus, it seemed, was the same way. It was the first kindness the world had granted her since that snake had stolen her first life from her. Eurydice could not let him go, lest he slip through her fingers.

Kissing him–like holding him–felt like home. It awoke even more memories in her, of dancing and singing and kissing him. Happy memories of a simple life. When she finally pulled away, she was breathless and she pressed her forehead to his. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she whispered. Pulling him gently, she eased them onto the couch. There was so much she needed to know, but she couldn’t let go of him yet. “I love you.” She laughed as she said it, realising with a start how long it had been since her heart even felt capable of loving someone like this. But with all her heart, she loved him. She had given her love away, she had had none to give since she lost him.

Orpheus knew that there were things he had forgotten over the years, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto every tiny detail, but now all of those lost details come rushing back to him as well. “I never stopped hoping I would,” he whispers back, and as impossible as it may have seemed, now they were here, together, proving that it was not so impossible after all. Her laugh is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard, and he cannot help but laugh too, drawing her even closer to him on the couch. He will never stop being in awe of how absolutely breathtaking she is. “Eurydice.” He runs a hand down her face, joyful tears springing briefly to his eyes again before he blinks them back. “I love you too -- so much. With all my heart.” It feels like a miracle to be able to say those words to her, and not only to the empty air in the hopes that somehow she will be able to hear him.

But those are not the only words he has ached to say to her for all these years. He does not want to ruin this perfect moment, but he cannot lose himself in it completely, as if he deserves to, when he has not even apologized for ruining everything before. She said she loves him, and he knows that she does, he does not doubt her at all -- but that does not change the fact that he failed her so completely that he struggles to see how she still can. “Eurydice, I -- I’m so sorry.”

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

anyaromanoff·:

–Ana shrugged slightly. She wouldn’t have called it a plan but more of a job. Something that kept her occupied. “Aye. Mostly just memories of a lifetime ago. Some poems.” She had not written things down, Ana wondered if she would wake up the next morning and it would have all been a dream. She needed to know the things she had done were real. “I spent time in Athens. Gosh that seems like forever ago.” She was grateful she caught herself before giving an exact date as to when she was in Athens.

Orpheus could laugh at how familiar that sounds, and he smiles, a little sad. “Poetry is often the best way to hold onto memories, I have found,” he agrees. After all, how many memories has he sought to keep alive through poetry alone? “I never saw Athens, actually. I left Greece a very long time ago.” He couldn’t say when exactly he left, but whenever he did, it was the one place in all of his travels that he did not return to. He shakes his head. “Time is so fickle. It seems to move so slowly, until you look back and realize how much has passed.” He is far more intimately acquainted with that knowledge than most, although there are many others in this town who are equally familiar. Perhaps this Ana is even one of them, though that is a difficult question to ask.

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & anastasia #anyaromanoff

The Road to Ruin

Ancient Greece, 1269 B.C.E.

Don’t look back until both of you are back in the sunlight.

It should be so easy. All he had to do was keep walking forward, and the world would be right again. Eurydice would live again. For such a reward, the condition is nothing -- or at least, it should be nothing. What is a walk, compared to finding his wife’s body, facing the three-headed dog, and the God of the Underworld himself?

This walk is harder than anything he has ever done in his life.

#death tw #suicidal ideation tw #i wrote this a while ago but i want it here too please enjoy #title shamelessly lifted from hadestown because titles are my nemesis #see the way the world could be (orpheus's scrapbook)

un-lostscngbird·:

Orpheus had always been lauded for his beautiful singing, and the story tellers said there was nothing so beautiful. Eurydice knew they were wrong, that they must never have heard him laugh like this. Such a simple, joyful sound. It was a close call, but it beat out even his most beautiful songs. It pulled a laugh from her, one of the most genuine laughs she’d had in over a century.

At first, she worried that it might be weird that she had a place of her own–another reminder that they’d been torn apart–but then she recognised excitement on Orpheus’s face. They had another chance. A chance to build their lives together again. Eurydice smiled wide, pulling Orpheus towards her home. The door was barely closed behind them before she kissed him, taking his face in her hands again as she did.

It is a good thing they are going to her place and not his, because Orpheus can barely take his eyes off of Eurydice for more than a second. He hardly sees the way there at all, only her smile as she leads him there. A very tiny part of him fears that this will be like last time, that she will disappear right in front of his eyes again, that he should not be looking at her -- but her smile and her hand in his are real this time, solid, not only faint images in his mind that he can barely hold onto in the darkness of a cold Underworld cavern and the most intense fear he has ever felt in his life. As long as he keeps his eyes on her, he can remember that they are not back then, he is free to look at her for as long as he likes and she will not disappear.

And then they are in her home, and her lips are on his, and oh, he is so in love with her it leaves him breathless. One hand tangles in her hair, the other just holding her close, and the kiss is perhaps a little bit salty after all of the crying they have both done, but it is perfect, and he kisses her back with everything in him. They still have so much to talk about, and he wants to, he wants to hear about everything that has happened to her since they last saw each other, he wants to relearn everything about her -- but for once, finally, they have time. There is no one else in the world who can make him feel like this, and right now, he just wants to bask in the bright glow of Eurydice.

#i have 0 kissing gifs so no gifs from me until they go back to talking lol #the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

▼ STATISTICS.

full name: Orpheus of Thrace

moniker / nickname: Orpheus tends to simply give his real name when asked; most of the time, people assume he comes from a family of musicians and that is why he was named for the mythological musician, rather than assuming he is the mythological musician.

titles: --

gender && pronouns: Cis male & he/him

dob && age: 1292 B.C.E. & 3312 years old (if my math is correct), though he has not aged since he was 29

place of birth: Thrace

previous residences: Orpheus has spent most of his immortal life traveling. In three thousand years, he has seen pretty much everywhere, though he never stays anywhere for very long.

zodiac sign: Pisces

ethnicity: White

sexual orientation: Demisexual

romantic orientation: Panromantic, but let’s be honest, his orientation has been Eurydice since the day they met

occupational history: He has always been a musician and poet, though it has meant different things at different times. He has played in courts and streets, published anonymous poems or for commission, but music and poetry have always been his way of life.

#i'll probably go in and add more to this later #but i was tired of it not being posted #qismat.task #see the way the world could be (orpheus's scrapbook)

anyaromanoff·:

–Hearing the way he spoke about the arts warmed her heart. “We seem to think along the same lines. Though when it comes to paints, I think I will keep to finding pieces for people who appreciate it just as much as you and I.” He had a point though, maybe she could take a class or two if she found the right one. “I’ll stick to paper and ink for now - it’s gotten me this far.” Smiling back at Orpheus, her arms retreated once they had shook hands. “Most call me Ana,” she answered, tilting her head to the side. “Orpheus - what is that?”

“Well, it sounds like you have a plan,” he says with a soft laugh, then, interested, “Are you a writer too?” She had mentioned painting and photography, but not yet the paper and ink. As for the question about his name, he says only, “It’s Greek.” He does not elaborate any further, say the name comes from mythology as if it was not his name before the myth happened, because even after three thousand years, his and Eurydice’s story is not one that he can tell like it happened to someone else. It is too revealing. Even a one sentence summary of the famous story sounds personal when he tells it, so he does not invite anyone to ask.

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & anastasia #anyaromanoff

un-lostscngbird·:

***

His arms around her feel like coming home. As he sobbed, she held him tighter, needing him to know she was here. Truly, truly here. The last time she had seen him, she could not touch him, nor speak to him no matter how hard she tried. He had not heard her, and so doubted her presence behind him. It had felt so cruel, being so close and yet so far from him. This, on the other hand, was what she’d longed for.

Eurydice let out a shaky breath when he confessed that he’d come back. How close had she been when he did? Had she been too early or too late? It didn’t matter. She brushed his tears away gently with her fingers. There was too many questions–for both of them–and she didn’t want to let him go. But where they were felt too open, too exposed. Eurydice took his hands in hers, holding them tight. “I’m here,” she confirmed. “Come on, my place is nearby. I need–” A thousand things ran through her head, but really it all came back to the same; you.

It was strange how a person could feel so perfectly at peace while also being almost on the verge of hysteria, but right now, that is how Orpheus feels. He is overwhelmed with love and with joy, but three thousand years is such a long time, and all of the grief from those years is hitting him again too. The last time he held her was nothing at all like this, because it had not been her at all, only her body, and the way that now she holds him back keeps him grounded in this moment, even if he cannot quite manage to stop crying yet. He does not want to let go of her either, but he does not have to, and oh, what a beautiful thought that is.

He squeezes her hands, takes a deep, calming breath, and lets out a slightly wet laugh, the brightest, most purely joyful laugh since she died. He nods. “You are.” The wonder in his voice is clear. Every time he says it, or she says it, he feels such an overpowering sense of relief. He wonders how many times it will take before he can truly believe it. “Your place,” he repeats, which may be a silly thing to be excited about, but he cannot help it. Even the tiniest reminder of her life feels like a miracle. She does not need to finish her sentence -- he knows exactly what she means. He feels the same. “Yes -- yes. Let’s go.”

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

ofunderwcrlds·:

–

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 that Orpheus gives the man is enough to make his face twitch with a frown of his own before shifting into a more stoic and straight faced expression. He could sense the anger in his voice, the strain of helplessness. Maybe Hades would resonate with the other if he knew anything besides the immortality of his own life. He didn’t know anything else.

The God rocks back on his feet, a hand running through his hair. “Sometimes things have a way of working out beyond what we can see right away.” He wasn’t the type to typically give some sort of advice but it really looked like the other could use it. It was times like these where Hades wondered if all these rules were necessary but he always came to the same conclusion. The balance between life and death was so vital and there would be chaos if the God didn’t adhere to his rules. Even when he did try and bend the rules slightly, it appears it didn’t work out either. He wondered why he even tried sometimes.

A tear rolls down his cheek, and he makes a choked noise that is not quite a sob. He believed that, before. He was so sure that things always worked out the way they were meant to, sure that there was always a happy ending in reach, even when it was a struggle to get to it. But there is no happy ending if Eurydice is dead, and he cannot see any way that this makes sense. Eurydice should not be dead, and she should not have to suffer because her husband was not strong enough when he had to be. It simply is not fair.

“She’s gone. How can this ever work out?” It is not a real question, and that is obvious. He wants answers, but there is no answer to that question that Orpheus could ever accept. There is one question, though, that has been torturing him ever since he left the Underworld. “Did we ever have a chance at all?”

#death tw #the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & hades #ofunderwcrlds

anyaromanoff·:

–Something that resembled a cackle escaped Ana’s lips as she thought of the idea of her painting. “Believe me when I say, I tried. Though perhaps I had was in the wrong country.” Or maybe the wrong era. “Do you paint? Maybe you could point out where I might improve.” Knowing that she hadn’t disrupted his writing brought a smile to her her face. She had remembered trying to write under a deadline and not being able to find the proper words - she didn’t know but could assume song writing would be the same. “Well, in that case,” she started, stretching her hand towards him. “Anastasia - but no one calls me that anymore.”

He shakes his head. “I do not -- but it is not so different from music, or from poetry. Not in what is most important, at least. Art is about expression, about creativity, passion, love. If it makes you happy, it doesn’t matter what anyone else has to say.” He pauses, letting the silence serve as an emphasis, before adding, “But I’m sure there are teachers here who could help you, if you wanted.” While he believes that all art comes from the soul, he also knows that a good teacher can make a significant difference as well. He shakes the offered hand with a smile. “Orpheus. It’s lovely to meet you, Anastasia -- or, what do you prefer to be called?”

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & anastasia #anyaromanoff

un-lostscngbird·:

***

As Orpheus rushed forwards, Eurydice did the same, embracing him tightly. It had been so long, too long. She had given up hope so long ago that she would ever be able to see her Orpheus ever again. There was no attempts to hide the way tears ran down her face, despite the smile on her face. For a few long moments, she just clung to him, not wanting to let go. If she let go, he might disappear and this might all be a dream.

Eventually, Eurydice does pull back just a little. Enough to see him properly, her hands coming to his face as if she assure herself it was really him. “But how?” she asked, needing to know. “They told me– The Maenads…” She already knew the answer; how many times had she died now? Orpheus had been granted that same gift she had thought was meant to be a curse all these years. She had tried to join him in the Underworld, only to find that the realm she was once trapped in was barred from her. And she had thought it was meant to be a cruel lesson of what happened when you tried to defy the gods. Not a gift that may reunite her with her love all these years later.

Despite the thousands of years since they have seen each other, despite the ways the years must have changed them, they still fit, just as they always have. Her smell, her touch, her breath -- everything about her is so familiar, so much like home, and he has no idea how he managed to survive all these years without her. He sobs into her shoulder, his fingers woven through her hair, his hold tight but so gentle. He could live in this moment forever; he never wants to let go. As long as they hold each other, the world is finally as it should be.

When she pulls back, he rests his forehead against hers, only letting go enough to move one arm to her waist and the other hand to her cheek. His vision of her is blurred through his tears, but even with her face streaked with tears, he has never seen anyone so beautiful. “I came back, I --” He shakes his head, tries to breathe well enough to speak, but he has so many questions and it is so hard to think about anything except the fact that she is here. “How do you know -- how did -- you’re here.” Immortality had felt like a terrible curse for so long, one that he too had found himself unable to escape even when he tried, but for the first time since he discovered it, it feels like a blessing.

#suicide mention tw #the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

un-lostscngbird·:

***

Eurydice had not expected much when the man sang for her. A pretty song, perhaps. Even something older than most living memories. This was more about humouring him than the song. She saw the adoration on his face, and had to drop her eyes away from the intensity. He looked at her like she was hope itself, and she didn’t know how to respond.

Then he began to play. Then he began to sing.

Eurydice looked up immediately, any apprehension melting away from her expression in an instant. The song was beautiful, beautiful enough to feel like it could fix anything just by singing it. But that wasn’t what shocked Eurydice to her core. No, his voice when he sang seemed to take her broken heart, take the pieces she’d long forgotten, and make them whole. Memories of a long forgotten life come rushing back. Her mouth fell open in shock, and a tear ran down her cheek. She knew this song. She remembered that day, when he’d sang it for her the first time. How she’d laughed when he asked her to marry him, but had ended up quickly falling for him anyway. How happy she’d been with him.

“It’s you,” she whispered. “Orpheus.”

It was Eurydice’s turn for her voice to break with three millennia of emotion, her hands shaking as she stared at the love she had lost so long ago. She remembered now. How could she have forgotten him?

When Orpheus sings, he often loses himself in the music, in the story and the emotions of which he sings -- but Eurydice is the music. She is the story, the emotion. She is the song. Really, she has always been the music that he sings, but never more than in this moment. If he is being honest, he is not sure what he expects from this either. He does not know how deep her memories of him are buried, or if they are lost forever. Perhaps it is asking too much for her to live and to remember. Perhaps it would be enough simply to meet her again, to start over, if nothing else. But he hopes desperately that they can still be found, and if that is so, he can think of nothing powerful enough to remind her, except song.

And she does remember. He sees it when she does, sees the change that comes over her face. He stops singing immediately, just watching her, waiting to hear what she says. Her remembering means that this is real. She is here. This impossible moment that he has dreamed about for thousands of years has actually come, and now everything depends on her reaction. His heart pounds, terrified that she will recoil, remember that this is his fault, and declare that she no longer wishes to see him.

But she doesn’t.

“It’s me,” he echoes, with a noise that is both a laugh and a sob at the same time. She does not hate him. He almost cannot believe the universe could possibly be so kind, but he does not dare question this. He lurches forward, and finally, finally, takes his wife in his arms. “Eurydice.”

#the ones who sing in the dead of night (orpheus's replies)#c: orpheus & eurydice #un-lostscngbird

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