Orpheus was never Calliope’s son. Not hers but yours.

The Goddess of sorrows and loss, wife of Morpheus, Queen of the Dreaming. You left your temples for him. Gave him a son.

Years passed before the tragedy happened. Before Orpheus went to the Underworld for his late wife. Before his own grief led him to what happened.

Morpheus found him that day. You remembered watching as he turned away from his son, ignoring his pleas and begging, the calling that haunted you at night when you laid next to him in the Dreaming.

That’s why you left — locked yourself in the darkness of your temple like Morpheus locked Orpheus away. Not daring to face the cold stare of your husband.

Centuries later you felt the shift as the sun was touching your skin. The painful squeeze of your heart, the cruel pain of your soul tearing apart.

You rushed to your son’s temple only to meet with Morpheus standing by its doorstep. Hands covered in blood.

Orpheus’ blood

You knew he wished for it. For the act of mercy, for a boon.

Yet you never could bring yourself to finally free your son from the eternal struggle and give him rest.

You met Morpheus’ gaze and shook your head at the coldness of it. Like those moments thousands of years ago haven’t happened. Like you weren’t once a happy with each other.

“There is nothing for you to seek there.” He said, his voice careful yet gentle. Like he was already preparing for your anger.