Eurydice

3

For the next few months after our marriage, life was sweet and musical. I was at his side in every concert, singing with him or accompanying his lyre with a flute. We made powerful, unforgettable music that brought entire cities to tears and made even the trees sway on their roots. Rivers would stop flowing just to hear us, and the wildest of animals grew tame and rested beside one another.

One day, we sat in a beautiful meadow. Countless marigolds swooned around us as we sang, our instruments left untouched at our sides, and Orpheus stared at me with a wide grin on his narrow face.

"If you give me a moment, my love," he said, taking my hand. "I want to write a new song about our future and marriage."

I laughed. "But you've already sung so many of those."

"Just one more," he whispered. "Last one, I promise."

"Then I'll get a drink from the river." We kissed, then I stood and walked away.

Now, I wish more than anything that I had known that that was our last kiss.

It only took ten minutes to reach the river, and as I stooped down and dipped my hands into it I admired how the sunlight danced over the water. Crickets chirped and the birds made their shrill calls as I drank, submerged in the peace of the forest.

"Eurydice?" It wasn't my husband that whispered my name.

I quickly swallowed and stood up. No one was there. I turned back to the water, flinching when a twig snapped nearby.

I opened my mouth to ask who it was, but the words wouldn't come out as hands settled onto my shoulders, and warm breath rushed into my ear. My stomach twisted as a man said softly, "Eurydice, I love you. Come live with me. Orpheus doesn't deserve you."