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I.
She is sleeping on her side, the bare skin of her back pressed flush with that of his chest, head resting on his upper arm as her own pillow. She has both hands entwined around the his, even in her sleep she anchors herself to earth with his arms. He cannot sleep, he cannot pull his eyes away from her. He watches her nose scrunch, her lips part slightly as she dreams. His other arm is around her waist, holding her as tightly as he can.
I’ll never let you go again. He repeats over and over in his head, bringing his hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. Orpheus leans down to kiss her temple, his hand trailing up her ribcage.
One. two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
His fingers dip into the deep valleys between her bones, each of the twelve pairs such prominent ridges under his thumbs. His heart nearly stopped when he helped her unwrap the cotton bandage from around her chest, helped her step out of the leather overalls and pile them at their feet. She was beautiful, flawless, always would be.
Twelve sets of ribs. Twelve hours since she came home.
The immediate move had been to pull her into his arms, and promise to never fail her again. He brought her inside and helped her into the bath, made her as much of a meal as he could with the things on hand. He made note, to get to the market before she woke, if he could drag himself away from her.
He watched as she held their daughter, and though she did not have the strength yet to lift her, he couldn’t look away as she held their daughter in her arms. He watched her feed her, helped her bathe her, and as they laid her in her bed, only a room away suddenly he wanted nothing more than to hold his family and never let go.
There was the bliss of learning each other’s bodies once again, despite his fear of hurting her. His Eurydice. Somehow the strongest woman in the world but he was scared of breaking her. Fragile. Eurydice was not fragile, no matter how she looked, which she reminded him of as she dug her nails into his shoulder.
And now she slept. Exhaustion from the journey home, hard labor, and emotional stress claimed her into a deep sleep. Their daughter would likely not want to be apart from her all night, the little girl already fighting her as she laid her in a separate bed. There was time, later, to bring her between them, Eurydice insisted. She wanted some time to reclaim her husband.
She slept with their skin together, every sharp edge of her body exposed. His fingers traced from her ribs to her hips, sharper than they had ever been before. Eurydice was anything but fragile, yet how she was able to have Ophelia was lost on him. The year of physical labor and starvation left its mark on her. She had no need to eat, and that all came crashing down as life breathed into her on a train ride out of Hadestown.
His Eurydice.
Orpheus kisses her shoulder again as he tucks their thin sheet around them, wrapping his nearly weightless girl in his arms. He’s humming a song, one he hadn’t found the will to sing in ages, as he follows her into sleep.
He is up the next morning, gathering groceries at the market, and home before she even wakes.
II.
His hands flit over her sides, grasping at her through the thin fabric of her white dress. Gifted by Persephone, it had fit her like a glove, tailor made satin that clung to her tiny frame.
There is noise around them. The band from the bar playing some impromptu tune, Persephone’s joyous laugh as she entertains the people of the town. A tired whining that he can place as their daughter, who was fighting sleep in the arms of Hermes.
His attention, though, is only on Eurydice. His wife. The late summer wedding had been a gift from Persephone, who insisted that they let her and those around them celebrate the young couple properly. A chance to celebrate them, the love they have for each other, and the way they changed the world.
They would have had each other in Hermes’ bar if he had let them, insisting a party was too lavish for them. There were better uses of money.
When he had seen her that afternoon, this ivory slip dress falling down her body like a water fall, red flowers of his own creation clutched in her hands and top her head, he was so glad they lost that fight.
She had her head against his chest, all he can see being the flower crown of red carnations atop her dark curls. Her arms are around his shoulders, as he holds her against him with his hands on her lower back. She is humming along to the music,eyes shut as she soaked in the pure bliss of the evening.
He can feel her fingers drumming in rhythm with the music, feather light against the thin cotton of his shirt. He had felt underdressed upon seeing her, his nicest trousers held up by worn leather suspenders didn’t compare to her. Looking at her was like looking at the sun. Radiant. Beautiful. LIghting up the world. Holding her was what he could only imagine harnessing sunlight would be like.
They are just swaying. Not quite dancing so much as holding each other as the world spins around them. He is content to just look down at her, watching as her face twists from where it was pressed into his shirt, to face the side. He follows her gaze to their daughter, finally settling, this time in the arms of Persephone. There is never a moment when Eurydice is not keenly aware of the location of their daughter, always ready to take her and run if danger struck.
He is watching her watch Ophelia when her voice breaks through to him, pulling him from the trance like state.
“Orpheus?” Her voice is soft, dreamy even as she looks up at him with doe like eyes.
“Hmm?” Orpheus responds, one hand leaving her back to cradle her face. He pushes a bit of hair behind her left ear, before his palm holds her cheek.
She smiles, her eyes crinkling with the joy that she exudes. “I love you.”
He only smiles back at her, leaning in to kiss his wife. He keeps his head pressed to hers as he sighs in contentment. “I love you too, Eurydice.”
His left hand is still on her side, thumb noting each rivulet as his hand grazes over her ribcage.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Seven. Less than Twelve. That’s progress Orpheus. She’s healing. He links his hand down under her knees, holding her bridal style across his arms, intent to carry her to their home.
She lets out a giggle as he scoops her up, which are silenced when he captures her lips with his own.
His hand flattens on her back as he pulls her closer, kissing her deeper despite the audience around them.
III.
The next time he takes note of her protruding ribs is mid winter, a good 8 months since her return.
She’s stripping her wet clothes, from being caught in a particularly heavy snowstorm on the way home from work, ready to step into a warm bath to ease the frost from her skin.
He catches her from the corner of his eye, as he is working on warming some towels near the fire. Ophelia is napping, in their bed albeit, warmed and unaffected by the winter storm raging beyond their walls. He takes solace in knowing their daughter has never known a winter like they did.
Orpheus lays the towels at her side, wrapping his arms around her before she can step into the warming water.
His fingers strum over her sides, fingertips dipping into the valleys between her bones.
One . two. Three. Four.
Four. Three less sets than last time. He notices the difference around her hips. Where despite a rough winter, she’s less sickly, less fragile.
Healing. Eurydice is healing.
Orpheus buries his face into her shoulder, kissing along her collarbone. “I love you, my Eurydice.”
She hums constantly, holding his arms with her own. She leans her head against his, letting out a breathless sigh as he peppers her collarbone with kisses. “Mmm..I love you too.” She practically purrs, brushing her thumb over his forearm lightly.
“Join me?” Eurydice asks, turning in his arms to press her chest to his, wide, dark eyes looking up at him. “We could save on water...:”
Her hands slide into the back pocket of his pants, lips claiming his, before he can even agree.
“Ophelia, gentle, baby” Eurydice instructed, gently placing her hands over Ophelia’s ontop of her ever so gently curved belly, her palms keeping the toddlers flat there. “You can’t knock of her, she won’t answer.” Her voice is gentle, teasing as she kisses Ophelia’s head. “Be gentle, sunshine. Gentle.”
Orpheus watches as their toddler smiles at her mother, laying her head down ontop of her midsection. She is rambling in something that is not quite coherent, though words about mama and baby and dada come through clear as day.
“You’re such a nice girl, what a great sister you’re gonna be.” Eurydice praises, cupping her daughter’s face in her hand. Ophelia grins, laying her head against Eurydice’s palm briefly, before leaning down to kiss her tiny belly. Sweet Ophelia, who had been fascinated with the idea of a baby since they told her not even a week prior.
“Night night baby.” Ophelia cooes, before crawling up Eurydice’s body to lay her head against her chest. She yawns, and buries her face against her collarbones. “Night night mama, luff you.”
Eurydice wraps an arm around her, kissing the top of her hair as she does so. “Goodnight baby, I love you too.” Her fingers trace through her hair in calming circles, watching closely as she brings fist to her mouth to soothe herself to sleep. She’s kissing her, over and over in gentle kisses to her hair, relishing in the scent of clean, fresh baby hair.
Orpheus is watching from his side, watching the way she holds their daughter so naturally to her. His eyes trail from her hips to her middle, where just the slightest bit of a bump shows evidence of their little twelve week old secret that they kept between the two of them and now their toddler. Even on her little frame, it’s a secret they kept well.
His eyes follow up, a smile gracing his face as Ophelia’s little feet on either side of her chest block his view of Eurydice’s torso under her shirt.
He strains his eyes to count, to examine for changes in her health.
One? No thats a shadow.
Is that one? No, just a bit of dirt from the garden.
None, Orpheus. There's none.
Eurydice doesn’t realize he is watching until she hears a soft cry escape him, jumping at the feeling of a single feeling against her side. “Orpheus?”
“You’re okay. Eurydice, you’re getting better, You’re okay.” He gets out through a choked sob, his index finger intently running over her side, over the thin fabric of her night shirt that had been pushed up so Ophelia could talk to her future sibling. When he feels nothing, no valleys or ridges indicating palpable bone, his hand comes to splay out on the skin of her stomach, thumb strumming softly. His whole body moves closer, so his head can lay beside the place where his hand resides. He can feel her fingers come down to stroke his cheek, easily one of the most soothing motions to him. “You’re going to be okay.”