Eurydice

5

It felt like falling asleep.

The grass had been my bed, the sky my blanket. My eyelids grew heavy as soon as the man' fingers brushed my flesh. He had to have been Thanatos, god of death. The whole thing would have been pleasant if not for the venom that took my life away, bringing me to this nightmare.

The bank of River Styx was gray and soft, and my feet sunk a good inch into the mud. I stared out into the river, a thick wall of fog covering what was at the end of it. In my sluggish mind, I wondered why the water was so dark.

"Yes, its pretty and all," a voice quipped impatiently. "But we have to get a goin', my dear."

I turned, finding a ferry boarded at the bank. A tall cloaked man stood in it, a bone-white oar in hand and a hood covering his face. Silvery people sat in the boat with him, their eyes kept down and their hands fidgeting.

I recognized the scene from some pottery Orpheus had in his house. "Are you Charon, sir?" I called out, eyeing the great cavern walls and roof. My voice should have echoed.

He gripped his oar tighter, sighing in frustration. "No, I'm Aphrodite. Yes, I'm Charon! Get in, or I'll just let you stay here for a few centuries."

Hurrying to his boat, I stepped inside and took the last seat, which was thankfully the one farthest away from Charon. I stared at my boat mates, taking in their glowing silver skin and hair. I looked just like them, another soul just wanting to get across this forsaken river. I heard someone clear their throat, and found Charon looming over me.

He held a pale hand out, waiting. I couldn't see his eyes, but I knew he was rolling them, exasperated.

"Sir, what do you-" I stopped talking, stopped thinking. A wave of fear rushed over me as I realized: I don't have a coin.

Charon understood the look on my face. He growled, "Unless you were killed by a god or in childbirth, you can't get across the river without a coin."

I blinked instinctively to get rid of my tears, but I found that there were none. I dabbed the corner of my eye, finding it to be dry.

"The god Aristaeus chased me into a snake's nest, and it bit me."

Everyone looked at me, surprised. They must have died a much more uninteresting way than I did.

Charon nodded begrudgingly. "Fine, I'll let you pass. But don't think the rest of the Underworld is as nice as me."

I didn't.

He grabbed his oar, and I bit my lip when I realized it was made out of bones. All kinds had been fused together to create a long handle and rectangular end, and Charon  used it to push away from the bank. Our cramped boat wobbled haphazardly through the water, and I peered into it, thinking about how strange I felt.

It was like someone had gutted me and left behind a lightweight shell. I stared at my gray, shiny skin and ran a finger over the boat, finding that I could barely feel its warped wood.

"We can't do much, I'm afraid," said an old woman on my right. She wore a modest shawl over her shoulders, and the hem of her dress was ragged and stained. Her kind smile seemed to light up the gloom. "We can't even breathe, dearie."

I was surprised that I hadn't noticed that yet. My lungs were frozen inside my chest, yet I didn't feel any discomfort.

"I guess when you're dead," the woman continued, her smile sad, "you're in such misery, you don't have time for breathing."

I smiled back, but I knew it looked weak. I turned away from her and gazed into the river.

Something, however, did stir within my chest. It felt like air, but it was warm and bubbling and made me grin.

Opening my mouth, I sang;

"Little bird had only one little wish,
To swim in the water as a fish.
He wanted scales and fins,
In water, our tale begins.
The bird played at the lake,
Yet the fish did quake,
For the sight of his sharp beak-"

"Stop." Charon clamped a hand on my shoulder, and I flinched; it felt too much like Aristaeus' grip. "No singing. This place be one of pain and gloom. Singing is not tolerated here; understand?"

I nodded, trembling until he released me. As the fear of Aristaeus washed over me anew, an idea came to me.

"What if I sing a song of my own misery?" I asked Charon. He snapped his head towards me, and I imagined him grinning.

"I miss hearing sad, tortured music. But I'm afraid, dear, you sound like a one-stringed lyre when you sing."

I glared at him. Never in my life had someone insulted my voice. "I was just warming up. I'm very good, if I say so myself."

"Show me." His voice was sharp, challenging. I closed my eyes,  and again that sweet something appeared in my chest.

"Lovers never think
Of their end.
They dance and laugh
And kiss their best friend,
Unknowing of Death
Sitting close by.
How bright a sun can shine
When you stare at your lover's eye.
Both you holding hands
While flowers around you dance.
Yet a wicked man
Takes my love's lover,
For his own."

There was a good side to not being able to make tears: I would have been bawling my eyes out if I could. Charon stood, frozen, as everyone listened.

"Clawed hands grip the girl
As she writhes and cries.
His breath warm on her neck
And his hold tight.
The girl pleas for father
While the man's eyes hunger,
An appetite for her.
He tries to swipe a kiss
But the maid runs,
Knowing he is right behind,
Claws out to grab
And take her away.
She falls.."

I swallowed, not looking anyone in the eyes. My lips quivered, and as I peered up at Charon, my voice dropped to a dead whisper​.

"And now her love
Will break his lyre
Over her grave,
For my love's lover
Is now a soul in a boat."