Why did you have to smile in your last moments? Why must your lips have curled up to show your joy to what you assumed was a marriage to the Son of Peleus.

Agamemnon did not display an ounce of sympathy as you fell to the ground by his own dagger, seeing the blood that coated the steel. Your ichor.

In his quarters he sobbed, he was a son of Atreus, ruthless and cruel yet to see the paleness of your skin that once blossomed with life now withered like a flower. He could not bear it within his mind.

He lied to you, to his wife and your siblings. But did he not have to? For Menelaus and this war? It is what he told himself at night, in silence where all that consumed him was your final glee before death swept you into his embrace.

He returned to Mycenae once the war concluded, but he did not feel as great of joy as he thought. So many perished, men he thought well of and those he didn’t, fell for an unjust cause due to either mortal or god he did not know.

He spent his first days within his kingdom with nothing but bitterness. A reminder of the home and family he tarnished. He did not care for the sympathy, for the people who threw themselves at him to gain his favor or that of his wife who he knew would end him just as he ended you.

That is to be said he was not surprised to learned Clytemnestra held a lover, his own cousin was more of a shock than the revelation. Along with the net tossed over him, submerging him beneath waters as her dagger of hatred and contempt plunged through his bare chest.

He felt his lips curve upwards, just as you had so many years ago as blood soaked the bath water and he felt himself descend.

Much did the son of Atreus search for you, and others among his cohort during the war. He had so many words that did not fall onto his tongue, tears that did not well in his eyes but he knew they were there as if carved in.

One day, within Asphodel, he saw you. Saw clothes you wore soaked in blood, the smile still on your lips. It was you.