Chapter 11
A Life Without Love
The sound of weeping could be heard across the whole of the land, and in the halls of Olympus itself, like the sound of a winter rain that never ceases for days or weeks on end. The stars whirled in the heavens, fainter than before, the sun and moon rose and fell, and all the while, Orpheus continued to live.
But how does one go on after tasting, living, breathing such a love as that between him and his Eurydice?
It is an impossibility to do so, to go on, to roam the same plane of human existence, for every sound is meaner, every colour more pale. Add to that the bitter draught of guilt and failure, which Orpheus swallowed at every moment, and the result was not life.
No.
Orpheus’ existence was now a living death, and not even the Gods could succour him
