Eurydice

He turned to look at her with eyes hungry with need.

He had led their upwards struggle. She noticed how his shoulders sagged forward, heavy with grief and slighted entitlement. His music had long gone silent but he breathed with a rhythmic urgency that seemed at once familiar and startling. The breath, amplified in the still darkness, reminded her of lost experiences of music and dancing.

Before he came for her, when she was alone, she had forgotten all pleasure: the way that the rain used to massage her, or the gentle grooming of the forest wind. She felt ashamed for having left him, incapable of dancing, unworthy of the wind's attention.

Then, he had found her, and they had begun their climb. Each step upward was a struggle to remember how she had been. She was frightened of what he would see when he saw her. Her fingers struggled through her greasy hair and stumbled with horrified curiosity over her dessicated breasts and jagged hips.

If she survived the climb, she could take nourishment once again. She could press her palms into his shoulders until he stood straight. Until then, she needed his strength to carry their hope.

The weight proved too heavy.

At first he was unsure if it was her, as she was changed. Her face flooded with resignation as he comprehended his mistake. She lowered her head, suddenly heavier, in farewell.