Eurydice died more than three millennia ago. She has been held in that time, by friends she'd made among the shades, by a goddess who saw something more in her than a mere nymph, by the family who were made to think they'd always had a daughter... by friends, by dance partners.
No touch compares to the warmth and strength of his arms pulling her close and lifting her from her feet as though he can't bear to let her go.
If he's having trouble breathing, so is she. The shock of the sudden change in her reality sucks all the air from her lungs, a sharp pain in her chest manifesting as a sound she doesn't even have a word for - some sort of sobbing, gasping, low, and ugly cry of agonised joy as her fingers venture into his hair, her arms across the tops of his shoulders.
How he manages her name again without breathing first is some sort of miracle.
"Orpheus..."
But anything more is lost in the heat of his mouth on hers as he kisses her with a searing passion she'd thought was lost to her forever. Her feet are dangling by his knees, and one tucks itself behind his thigh as she meets his lips, love and loss and sorrow and joy and lust and disbelief and euphoria all poured into a kiss she thinks might set her alight. Someone wolf-whistles good-naturedly as they pass.
She doesn't care.
Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and that blocks her nose, which is the only reason she pulls her mouth from his - enough to take in air.
"Where have you been?"
Her English is abandoned for the tongue they spoke when she last was alive, foreign to every modern ear and murmured against his lips.
I read A LOT while looking for what I wanted for her. So many of them are much sadder than I wanted!
No touch compares to the warmth and strength of his arms pulling her close and lifting her from her feet as though he can't bear to let her go.
If he's having trouble breathing, so is she. The shock of the sudden change in her reality sucks all the air from her lungs, a sharp pain in her chest manifesting as a sound she doesn't even have a word for - some sort of sobbing, gasping, low, and ugly cry of agonised joy as her fingers venture into his hair, her arms across the tops of his shoulders.
How he manages her name again without breathing first is some sort of miracle.
"Orpheus..."
But anything more is lost in the heat of his mouth on hers as he kisses her with a searing passion she'd thought was lost to her forever. Her feet are dangling by his knees, and one tucks itself behind his thigh as she meets his lips, love and loss and sorrow and joy and lust and disbelief and euphoria all poured into a kiss she thinks might set her alight. Someone wolf-whistles good-naturedly as they pass.
She doesn't care.
Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and that blocks her nose, which is the only reason she pulls her mouth from his - enough to take in air.
"Where have you been?"
Her English is abandoned for the tongue they spoke when she last was alive, foreign to every modern ear and murmured against his lips.