Work Text:
Orpheus was a poor boy.
He’d seen a lot.
He’d been through a lot.
They knew it would take time.
But it’s been a long time.
“Orpheus, it’s spring again.”
Yet Orpheus didn’t emerge.
He didn’t work, he didn’t sing, he didn’t write, he didn’t play his lyre.
He didn’t leave his quarters.
Seasons came and seasons went. The world turned.
Orpheus did not leave his self-imposed isolation.
Without Eurydice, he thought himself to be alone.
So he stayed that way.