When told the conditions by the god of the dead, Orpheus
in all his cunning, offered something else. He would take Eurydice--
beautiful, vivacious, taken-too-soon Eurydice--
and hold her hand the whole way out. The king gazed at Orpheus--
brave, smart, grief-stricken Orpheus--
and agreed. If he ever once let go of Eurydice,
(fallen, gone, smoke-woven Eurydice,)
even after escaping Hades, she would be pulled away and back. Orpheus
(flesh, blood, wasting-away-from-need Orpheus)
agreed. The king, certain in his own power, brought out Eurydice:
beautiful, floating, light-borne Eurydice.
Her lover fell to his knees at the sight. Orpheus
had no words to describe her. No words were ever necessary. Eurydice
was led to him, fingers interlocking, weaving so to never be unwound. Orpheus,
starving for her caress, made greedy by hunger, reached towards her, but Eurydice--
poor, sweet Eurydice--
could not feel his touch. All either could feel was the hand of the other. So Orpheus
made himself content to simply look at his lost love. Eurydice
gazed back.


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