Orpheus failed the first time he descended to Hades.

He was so close, how had he failed? It was a simple stumble of your feet and his head turned.

He could see the sunlight pour onto your skin, the brightness of your eyes and the pale skin that held his own—before you vanished into shadows.

He would not fail this time, no, not when he is a dead man. A resident of The Underworld, of Elysium where songs were played on golden lyres and the sun’s light managed to shine upon it all.

He had nearly torn Elysium to shreds to find you, his feet crashed through river waters and crushed asphodels beneath them as he ran, the music sounded more as if a war cry as his search became a desperation.

“My love! My love!” He called out, his once voice which was that of a bards now hoarse with tears and hours of screaming.

You could not be far, could you?

Then, did he see you beside a stream, a distant look to your eye—seeming enraptured in thoughts, distant from the world as flowers and grass blades swayed beneath your feet.

The son of Calliope lunged as if he found his prey, crashing you both to the cold waters, feeling the water run over his hands and wet your clothes.

He could not contain himself, his joy as he took in your features, his precious love and muse, his lips pressed to your own, limbs tangled in a iron gripped embrace.

“Oh, my sweet muse, my songs and mind have been empty without you!” He whispered, his voice unsteady and quick. “I shall never leave, forgive me, forgive me, oh my sweetest love.”