Death's Delight

The Celebration

Misery reigns.

Persephone heals in an unfamiliar bed. Hades sinks into self-hatred. Demeter's killing curse wreaks its destruction upon the mortal world.

But joy still lingers in one realm.

Joy still lingers in the nymph's forest, at the wedding of Orpheus and Eurydice.

His face is all smiles as he makes his vows, her hand clutched tightly in his, a blooming vine canopy creeping far into the trees above them and dappling the sunlight across the wood pavilion they stand upon.

There are white roses deftly placed throughout her cloud of dark hair, her flowing bridal garment drapes lustrously down to her feet, and her white teeth flash in a smile as she begins to speak with him, her earnest feeling tinting every word brilliant and pure.

"And so I take thee as my constant companion, my friend through every trial, and the lover of my soul," they finish together, and the awaiting crowd of nymphs and demigods alike erupts in cheers as the lovers kiss – brief but passionate, a sign and seal of their new life.

Eurydice laughs as petals fall around her, and Orpheus brings a hand tightly around her waist.

"You are mine," he whispers incredulously, leaning into her, his lips brushing her forehead. "I cannot believe – "

She stops his mouth with another kiss, and he cradles her face in his hands, deepening the kiss as the exultant cheers grow ever louder.

Reluctantly drawing back, he manages a whisper: "Gods, Eurydice, you are so precious to me."

Her nose crinkles as she grins. "By all the gods in Olympus, my love, how you talk! My ears may well fall off, come a few years married to you."

Laughing, he embraces the beautiful nymph, pressing her tightly to his chest. "If my words at any point become superfluous," he jests, "Feel free to stop me from speaking them in any way you choose."

Gasping in falsified shock, she pushes back. "You are a scoundrel, sir!" she proclaims, then her shocked expression goes warm again. "I think a kiss shall be my preferred way."

"Kissing is my preference as well, my love," he manages to say, before melting into yet another kiss.

With joined hands, they present themselves to their audience, and parade down the aisle.

Then it is time for dancing.

Orpheus fumbles through the first dance, holding Eurydice close and relying upon her graceful movements to guide him through the dance.

"I may be the son of Apollo, but I was not blessed with his grace," he whispers into her hair.

She only laughs.

As soon as socially permissible, Orpheus vacates the dancing grounds, leaving the dancing to Eurydice and her kinfolk.

He is content to watch, for what a show it is!

His new bride joins hands with her friends, skipping into multiple intricate patterns, until the blur of bodies, the frenzied music, and the energy of the evening becomes almost indistinguishable – the harmonies of joy and celebration intermingling as the night parades onward and sparks from newly-lit torches drift toward the stars like they deserve to be constellations.

Throughout it all, she never stops dancing.

And he never loses sight of her.

With every motion, every smile, every laugh, he fears that he has fallen in too deep, and the fantasy will shatter. But it never does. She is always right before his eyes, somehow too beautiful to really be a living, breathing thing and yet too real to know her own worth.

To love her is ecstasy and pain: pain because his heart is hers, and she has wrung him so far beyond what he had once thought himself capable of.

"You are my everything," he vows under his breath as she laughs and dances and dances and laughs. "There is nothing I would not do for you."

For a moment she catches his eye, and he knows she understands.