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Before Orpheus, her dreams had been wondrous. Visions of lakes and meadows and deep oceans, all conjured up by her beloved husband. They would walk together in deep valleys she had not seen in many years, eat foods that were, weren't, and would once be. They danced upon the clouds and explored the true Endlessness of his realm.
When Orpheus was born, her dreams had been soft. Of blankets holding their newborn, of little animals coming over to greet him. Of beings sitting next to the child, as if they were already enjoying his singing babbles.
When both of them left her, her dreams were gone. She would sleep. And she would wake, rested, but not satisfied. Oneiros had taken her key to his realm when he stepped out of her life. And she was glad for it. She never wanted to see him again, and she never wanted to be reminded of what once was. She would have thrown the key to his realm at his head, had he not taken it himself.
She was glad that she still had her own stories to think about when she slept.
And then she got captured. The stories she would think about in her half-sleep were shattered and pulled from her by the men that took them. Like shards of once splendid stained glass, they were put back together like ill-fitting puzzle pieces and sold to loving audiences.
She tried to keep one for herself, once.
It resorted in his biggest triumph yet.
So she stopped sleeping. Stopped telling herself stories.
Because whatever story she could come up with, even if she tried to keep it for herself, it would soon be taken from her.
Better not to have a story at all, if you can't keep it.
But her story wasn't over.
Calliope sat on her bed in her small hotel room, slightly swinging her feet. This was the first room in sixty years that belonged entirely to herself. She had locked the door behind her, bolted it shut. Shoved a chair in front of it.
But was she barricaded from the outside, or was the outside barricaded from her? Was she keeping herself prisoner once again? She looked at the door, expecting a knock at any time.
Footsteps came up the stairs, and Calliope tensed. A knife manifested in her hands, made from pure poetry. The footsteps came closer and closer, until they passed her room and wandered down the hallway. Calliope sighed. The knife dissipated like a sonnet on a windy night.
With a noise of frustration, she got off the bed and flung open the balcony door.
She stepped into the cool midnight air. The breeze ruffled her dress and made her hair dance.
Looking up, she searched the heavens. There. A single star.
The star grew red lights, and passed overhead, leaving a cloud trail behind.
Airplane.
With a huff, Calliope sat down in one of the balcony chairs. At least this was better than being in yet another bedroom. The breeze brought with it the smell of freshly mown grass, of the park beneath the hotel. When she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine being back home.
Until a delivery man on his scooter and a driver of a car got into a loud argument.
Calliope closed her eyes, and chose to focus on the sound of the wind in the trees instead.
When the waking world leaves you wanting and weary…
The freshly mown grass had made way for the smell of springflowers, and the warmth of the sun shone on her face. A brook bubbled nearby, and she could hear the quiet song of the awakening butterflies.
The leaves on the trees were rustling cheerily, and a leaf fell down and brushed her cheek.
Calliope opened her eyes.
She was sitting on a red checkered picnic blanket, surrounded by grapes, cheese, wine and other delicacies that her captors had denied her. Tiny macarons on a plate near her feet, and a tall glass of ice cold orange juice in her hand.
She looked around and saw the person in front of her.
'Thought you might like a little picnic instead of being cooped inside.' the person said, toasting Calliope with her own glass. Her hair was a different color, but she knew the Dream her once-husband had created at once. The personification of dreaming of parties.
'Feast.' Calliope breathed. 'How..?'
The Dream called Feast smiled. It crinkled her eyes. 'That's not for me to say,' she answered. 'But if I were to guess, it seemed like someone thought you were in need of a break.'
'Oneiros…' Calliope said, standing up and looking around for the form of her once-husband.
'Is not here, yet. And if he is, I'll only allow him to enter if you give him permission.' Feast said, standing next to Calliope.
'Thank you.' Calliope said, extending her hand to lightly brush against Feast's arm. Feast seemed to know what the Muse needed, and opened her arms for Calliope to fall into.
For the first time in over sixty years, Calliope allowed herself to feel. She sobbed into Feast's arms until the other woman's dress got wet.
'I'm getting your dress wet' Calliope mumbled.
'Good.' Feast said. 'It looks nicer this way.'
Between her tears, Calliope giggled. After a while, the hug broke. Feast gently sat her down on the picnic blanket again and handed her her orange juice.
'Is there anyone else you'd like to invite to your party?' Feast asked.
They had not even fully entered her mind. But they were there.
Clio, Erato, Uterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsicore, Thalia and Urania had suddenly always been sitting with them, laughing and lounging in the slight summer breeze. Polyhymnia was piling freshly grass onto a spluttering and giggling Thalia. Melpomene was trying to catch a grape that Clio was throwing for her and Uterpe was braiding Calliope's hair. Badly.
It was everything she had missed and everything she had hoped for in her long years alone. The years of her capture weren't washed away, but they were eased by the company of her sisters and the bright presence of Feast.
When Calliope's sisters had said their happy goodbyes, Calliope and Feast waved them off as they walked across the meadow and disappeared.
'You'll see them again.' Feast said. 'They were all really here.'
Calliope nodded, sure of the fact.
The water of the brook changed course to rush over Calliope's feet, soothing them with the coolness.
'Hello, Fiddlers Green.' she said. 'I've missed you too.'
The trees stood up a bit higher and the flowers bloomed a bit fuller.
When Calliope turned to look at Feast, the Dream was already ready.
'You have one more guest to your party, if you'd let him in.' she said.
Calliope nodded.
Out of nowhere, Feast opened a door, and a familiar figure walked through. Feast bowed her head cheerfully.
'My lord.'
'Thank you, Feast. You may leave us.'
Feast looked at him sternly. 'Sorry, sir. This isn't your dream.' She looked at Calliope.
'I would like to speak to him, Feast. Thank you for… Everything you've done.' the Muse said.
Feast smiled at Calliope. 'Any time! And thanks for having me!'
She left through the door.
Oneiros looked at his once-wife. She looked… Not fully at peace, but on her way to being so.
'You asked if we could talk about what happened. About our son.' Dream said.
Calliope nodded.
'And we will,' Dream assured her. 'But for now, I just wanted to return this to you.'
He held out his hand to her.
In the palm of the Endless rested a small, star-speckled key.