What is in a name?
He threw the pen against the desk, sending it skittering into the corner with a metallic *tap tap* *tap* *tap.* And then it was silent. There was anger in his eyes, yes, but also a fraction of guilt, the slow burning candle of regret, the callous foolishness of hope. The man set the pad down and brought his fingertips to his temple in an effort to calm the headache that was growing. What was there to do now that he missed the perfect opportunity? There was never a time he saw so much promise in finding the answers he sought then when he was there, at the gates of Hades. On the shore of the River. Elbows on desk, he let out a small groan. The pain had not subsided since the end of trade, and he felt torn apart with every simple thought- a paper doll against a barbed wire fence as it fluttered in the wind. He had heard about the excavation of the Mall from some of the locals and decided to join up with some friends, but upon getting there he saw what kind of ritual she was planning. A ritual to honor Hades, Persephone, and Hecate. It was their dominion to which our souls entered upon death, she would say. It was they whom we plead to. They all stood, coin in hands as intruders in a place that they knew little about, waiting for a sign to appear. They fought their own demons in the blackened vestibule. They stopped short of the Ferry Man. And... He had no desire to return without an audience. Without being able to ask the question. Without being able to bargain for the consideration of an answer. Yet, he found his song unsung. He set his own selfish desires aside, for what reasons he cannot fathom. Winnie had respected Hephaesta’s wishes, and let her own stay behind. Did he balk at the chance to learn the answer, or did he understand what it was that she had to do in her attempt to become a higher power in her faith? Did, for a second time, Orpheus look back, only to lose sight of his Eurydice? Every question presented only amplified the cackling madness that sprouted in his mind. “What, then, are my efforts for? Where can I turn to for these answers? If songs sung go without reward, What becomes of the Tiny Dancer?”
