#aclastra

@aclastra​ said : ❝ Forgive my intrusion. I needed to see you. ❞ - paTROCLUS for acHILLES

“Patroclus.” When he says not to be disturbed, Patroclus usually listens to him. Disobedience isn’t something he’s used to, or Patroclus ignoring his orders. Achilles glances back down towards the shore. He’s glad he can no longer see his mother there, relieved that she’s returned to the sea before Patroclus arrived. He touches Patroclus’ arm and guides him away from the water. “What is it?”

Mister Hermes had told Orpheus that the lyre had been a gift from his mother to him. Orpheus has no idea if this is actually true or not-- Mister Hermes likes to weave all sorts of stories, each more entertaining and delightful than the last, no matter how false they may be-- but he likes to think it is. He’s never been given any reason to doubt it. The lyre is a gift, either way, and it’s nice to think his mother thought of him enough to leave it for him. 

He sits in the shade of a tree, lyre balanced in his hands as he works through a song of his own composition. Barely ten summers have passed, but Mister Hermes has always says he’s a smart boy. Blessed by his mother to be a great musician. 

       the train rumbles along as it always has, but this time it carries two passengers up to the world above. eurydice never thought she would be on this train again. she never thought a lot of the things that just happened would happen to her, of course, but especially this one.

       she didn’t ride in persephone’s car on her trip down, either. it’s a hell of a lot nicer than the rest of the train; plush seats, large windows, everything trimmed with gold and finery and things mr. hades probably thought persephone would like. to say that eurydice felt wildly out of place here would definitely be an understatement.

       it’s a feeling she’s going to have to get used to, she knows.

       she hasn’t been able to sit still for the entire ride. she’s wearing one of persephone’s old dresses -- borrowed for the occasion -- and every few minutes her restless hands fiddle with the skirt or smooth it down. she shifts in her seat, crossing or uncrossing her legs as she watches the world fly by. already the air feels warmer. the world is ready for spring. ready to come back to life. just like eurydice herself.

       eventually, the train station comes into view in the distance, and eurydice’s tension rises in anticipation. anxiously, she glances over at persephone. 

@aclastra​

        “what’s that you got there, love bug?” persephone hums, attempting to sort through her closet and it’s scarce few dresses. nothing fancy, up top. none of them seem suitable. she huffs, annoyed, and flops down on the edge of the bed with little grace and poise. her closet at her momma’s has never been so lacking. she blames herself for not sewing herself any more dresses that spring. none of the fabric feels right in her hands; she doesn’t know why she’s being so fussy, but things feel different this year. she wants to look nice. 

“what’s that?”

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