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Orpheus is the son of a muse, but his voice, once loud and unapologetic, is now quiet and fearful. The only noise that can be heard is the steps of his boots along the railroad track and the occasional gust of wind that blows in these dark, dark tunnels. His lyre is tied carelessly on a strap that is flung over his shoulders and thumps against the back of his overalls with each step. There is no light except for the oil lamp he holds, though his eyes would be better off adjusting naturally to the shadows.
He’s been on this path for what feels like eons. He remembers the journey there and how long that took, but that was with a goal in mind. Now, the same pace he once kept does nothing more than set a steady beat for his thoughts and the pounding in his head.
Hades gave him two conditions: Eurydice has to walk behind Orpheus, and he can’t turn around. Is this a test? No, a trial. It feels more like a trick as Orpheus strains his ears desperately to try and hear anything behind him. Her breath, her footsteps, her clothes shifting against each other; he is met with only silence.
He tries to find comfort in the thought of her, in what he’s fighting for. Orpheus recalls the first time he laid eyes on her, the way the dark of the night clung to her body, the way the light from the match she used for her cigarette seemed to sweetly kiss her face. When Eurydice smiled, he felt that same warmth in his chest he thought only ambrosia wine could bring. Her name would tumble out of his lips like a melody he never wanted to stop singing. He wants to call to her now, but his voice is unwilling to speak, as if the howling winds took it from him.
Eurydice would only be able to respond if she is actually behind him. What if she isn’t? What if he’s all alone again? He didn’t hear her the first time she called out to him before traveling to the Underworld to work on that harsh factory floor. What if she’s calling out to him now and he’s ignoring her yet again?
No, that can’t be. Hades is a mean old king, but he’s not a monster. Eurydice must be behind him. Orpheus saw the way Hades danced with Persephone when he sang to remind them of the melody of their own love. Hades, the king and dictator of The Underworld, was faced with the fact that he was just like Orpheus: a man in love with a woman. Nothing more, nothing less.
For a moment, sure, they may have been the same, but at the end of the day, Hades is a god. Who is Orpheus compared to him? Some poet who can play the lyre? He can’t control the seasons, he can’t rule a kingdom with riches he cannot fathom. But he promised Eurydice he would write a song so beautiful it would bring the world back into tune– back into time, the way things used to be. Now? All he feels is the same bitter cold that winter brings. If Eurydice is even here, why would she follow him back to that cold again?
The grinding of stones under his feet match the grinding in his teeth. These railroad tunnels seem to be getting darker the farther he walks towards the surface. The cold feels like death resting a hand on his shoulder and chilling him to the bone. Eurydice, his wife, his love, left him in the first place with good reasons. Orpheus had been waylaid, caught in that terrible storm, and he left her all alone. And even when they were together, he wasn’t able to provide food for when she was hungry and fire when she was cold. Eurydice doesn’t want him. Does Eurydice want him? Why would she? But, in her own ways, she does. When they finally reunited, she cried, but with pure joy. She never wanted to leave him. Now, Orpheus has to trust in what she said. Trust in her, trust in himself, trust in them and their love. Eurydice is here. She’s here. She said she’d follow him. She loves him. She does. She does. She does-
His heart moves his body without his mind's consent. He hears an unmistakable voice let out a pained gasp before his eyes land on her– the person he needed, but didn’t want to see. Eurydice, still in her factory clothes, worn with labor and grime, holds her hands to her chest and recoils back as if restraining herself.
“It’s you,” Orpheus breathes.
Despite everything, she still smiles for him. “It’s me.”
Silence.
“Orpheus…” she calls out, only this time quiet and broken. She doesn’t know what else to say.
The grief and sorrow of betrayal can barely fit in Orpheus’s chest as it creeps up his throat, gripping it tight, so that hardly any words can escape him. Only the tears that have threatened to spill the moment he started the journey crawl back to the surface. He failed, he failed.
“Eurydice.” he calls out her name like a hope; a prayer.
The two mortals stand there frozen, too afraid to move in fear that it’ll break whatever spell they’re trapped in. What happens next? Does Hades know? Can they continue down this path they’ve made?
Eurydice is the first one to move, outstretching her arm to reach closer, then looks down in fear. Orpheus' eyes follow and he feels his stomach drop with dread. He watches as Eurydice’s legs turn into mist as it slowly climbs up her body, like a veil of death unraveling.
All at once the words she was holding back now tumble out of her mouth. “Wait for me!” she calls out, “Orpheus, wait for me, wait for me, please-!”
“I will!” He echos, “I will, Eurydice, I will, I will-!”
He goes to grab her hand, but a gust of wind blows through the tunnel once again, and this time it carries Eurydice with it as she disappears into the shadows again. Orpheus stumbles a few steps forward, thrusting his oil lamp forward to try and pierce the never ending darkness, but this was no villain he could simply slay; there is no hand reaching out for him this time.
Truly alone, Orpheus succumbs to the weight of the world, crashing onto the train tracks below, and weeps. Between his gasps and the tears that trail down his face, he sings the name of his love how his heart always heard it: like a melody.