ocular rewritten

author's note:
‣ the story of orpheus and eurydice has long been fascinating and tragic—how music could move mountains and bargain with kings, but two lover could not reunite. i've loved this tale for a long time, as shown not only through my near-obsessive reading of greek myths but also through my love of hadestown. the musical explores orpheus' music quite a bit—i wanted to do so as well, but through a different character. enjoy the epic.
‣ many thanks to lio for critiquing <3



glossary of musical terms:
‣ treble clef — all notes are above middle c; most commonly used
‣ bass clef — all notes are below middle c
‣ alto clef — middle c is in the middle of the staff; not used very often
‣ trill — quick, fast ornamentation
‣ arpeggio — notes in a chord played as a series
‣ mezzoforte — medium loud
‣ fortissimo — very loud; the loudest a piece gets
‣ tempo — speed
‣ crescendo — a gradual increase in volume
‣ ritardando — a slowing of tempo, typically at the end of a piece or section
‣ melodic minor — an alteration of a typical minor scale
‣ cadence — a series of chords that marks a turning point in the music



they called me after the lyre, my first instrument. “lyra,” they said, “a girl as sweet as the lyre she’s named for.”
yes, they knew i was talented.
they knew, young one, from my first pluck of the strings, when i wobbled over to the lyre and played a few sweet notes, a new melody. a girl named for music, with a laugh like a melody. how sweet i was, they cried.

i grew to love the harp, although with it, i could not travel as easily. i was content at home, to write new melodies and spend time with eurydice.
my sister sighed, told me she was surrounded by talent. “my husband, lyra—how shall i ever measure up!”
we laughed, told her she was perfectly capable. “eurydice, maybe it's you giving us this talent,” orpheus told her, and she'd laugh, smile, tell us surely that wasn't true. we'd laugh, smile, tell her she was so, so loved.
our laughter was a harmony i have never heard again. eurydice’s giggle in treble clef, orpheus’ low chuckle in base, and my own in middling alto. together, we were a glorious greek chorus.

and we would play—my childish memories still see orpheus as more talented, and perhaps he was. it wasn’t technical skill or lyrical prowess that made him shine, but the gift to encapsulate life in music. he would perform, i would learn, and eurydice would laugh and laugh and laugh.
soon, crowds drew to our music like moths to a flame, all to see the gifted boy, his dazzling wife, and me, a girl of twelve. trees and people alike leaning closer as we played by golden firesides. delicate trills into dramatic arpeggios as we rushed through mezzoforte to climatic fortissimo, all of it a gift from the muses themselves.
do you have any times like that, young one? remember them, savor them. too often, they don't last.

they came running to me—after.
orpheus, hermes, our parents, telling me in fits and starts what had happened.
how eurydice had wandered off, as she often did. how a snake bit her, and she collapsed, feet slipping out from under her like a heroine at the theatre. a twisted greek chorus of the wedding guests looked on at our grief.
a cry ripped from my throat, and before i knew what was happening, i rushed to the harp—my harp, my refuge, and snapped string after string. crimson lines crisscrossing my hands, pain shooting across them, a melody off-key, a painful, dissonant, harmony. scales rising, tempo increasing, until it all cut off at the peak of the crescendo, no ritardando to soften the blow. eurydice was gone. forever.
dimly, young one, i remember someone carrying me off, fragments of metal harp strings wound around my fingers. dimly, i remember fighting to escape sleep, a twisted cure for grief.

the next day, i heard the news that orpheus had left, and with him, his magical lyre. he was going down to hades, to rescue eurydice from his clutches.
he left me no word of goodbye; we had been close through eurydice only; but still i mourned his absence, that of a musical mentor, and eventually, i mourned his death.
i resented him for leaving me, letting me grieve alone while he played the part of the knight of romance. as his song drifted up from six feet under, his lament for eurydice, forgotten, i left the shards of my shattered harp as my own last gift to eurydice. as the song filled every tree and creek, the woods shuddered, each leaf dripped tears of sadness, the requiem so powerful it could move mountains. orpheus continued to wander, playing his haunting song. truly, young one, melodic minor is aptly named—his last epic was grief incarnate.

and i?

i made my living traveling, sharing my music and tales, becoming well known as the sister of that star-crossed couple, orpheus and eurydice. you won't find me in any of the olden myth-books, but that's no excuse for me to be forgotten. i didn’t mind the neglect, just the regret—the question, again and again, “why didn’t you go? you could have saved her.”
could i have? i’ll never know. young one, if you ever have a choice like that, make the choice you can live with. crossroads like that, they’re cadences in your life. they define you, ruin you, even.
in stories and songs, i wandered like eurydice, sang like orpheus, until i ended up here, telling my story to you. before, my song, my epic, hadn't had an end, but i suppose it does now, with this final tale.
take care, young one. i'll see you in the stars.